


Sleepless Nights (In Wait For You)

by TheSchubita



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Arguing, But We Only Stan Happy Endings In This House, Chapters getting longer through the story, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Everyone is a Top and Everyone is A Bottom at least one time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers to Friends and then Lovers again, Getting Together, Hot Space Era, Hot Space more like Hot Mess, It's gonna be EXPLICIT MY DUDES, Lack of Communication, M/M, Porn With Plot, Relationship Problems, Roger is a Good Bro, Roger is a Good Egg, Roger is going to suffer first tho, Slow Burn, Smut, Switching, a lot of arguing, angst in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 13:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 97,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: "Brian, if I don't get to fuck you in one way or another real soon, I'm committing murder," John rushed out."I – I figured," Brian said slowly. "Your suggestion?"John picked at a loose thread of their pillow. "Alright, just – don't hate me," he said quietly."John –" Brian began."IthinkRogershouldjoinusinbed," John said in one breath, looking anywhere but at Brian.Brian sat up. "Come again?""I think Roger –""No, I heard you, I just – what in the hell? Roger?".Or, the one where John and Brian have some serious communication issues, Roger is trying to be a good friend, Freddie Knows Everything but Would Prefer Not To, and the whole "Friends with Benefits" thing has never worked out for anyone, ever.





	1. Problem

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> Or - Hello and welcome to round three of "I'm back at my bullshit". I have nothing to say for myself except that this is a VERY self-indulgent work of fiction as always.
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie and Roger talk, there's some developpment with management, and then things take a turn for... something else.

 

Roger was having one of his rarer nights in, those where he went to bed before 11PM, drinking tea instead of something stronger, dressed in _actual pajama pants_. Roger secretly loved those nights; where he wasn’t on tour, studio sessions actually ended on time, and thanks to his recent break-up with Dom, no one else demanding his attention for the night. Roger was basking in the warm, dim light of his living room, not yet having gathered enough willpower to actually get up and go to bed, when the doorbell rang.

 

Roger groaned. The doorbell rang again, more insistent. Roger glared in the direction of his front door, willing the person to go away, when he heard a muffled ‘ _Roger!_ ’

 

Deaky.

 

Roger heaved himself off his _very_ comfortable sofa, stalking towards the door, almost ripping the door off the hinges with sheer force stemming from annoyance as he went to open it. He had been fully prepared to glare John into submission until he left, not keen on having one of his preciously rare nights in jeopardized, but the look he was met from the bassist gave him a pause.

 

John looked miserable and disheveled, buttons on his sheer shirt not buttoned up right, cheeks flushed. Any biting words died on Roger’s tongue, instead he opened the door wide enough in silent invitation, and the other man shot him a grateful, if wobbly look, stepping into his home.

 

"Hey, Deaks," Roger said carefully. John just nodded at him, barely even looking at him, when he went straight for Roger’s liquor cabinet, helping himself to a generous swig straight from Roger’s bottle of vodka. "Yeah, no, please help yourself to my kitchen," Roger muttered. John just shot him an unimpressed look as he took another generous swig, which, fair enough; Roger had dropped by John in various states over the years, John always accommodating him without second thought, even with a crying toddler on his arm. Roger watched as John downed almost half the bottle, before deciding enough was enough and wrestled it from John’s hands, setting it aside.

 

"So, are you gonna tell me what has your panties in a bunch?" Roger asked. "Or are you going to raid my whole liquor cabinet first?" John eyed said cabinet with some longing, and that’s when Roger realized with dawning horror that John’s eyes weren’t glassy from the vodka, but from brimming tears. "John?" He asked softly, setting a hand carefully on his shoulder. That was all it took apparently, because John sniffed, once, twice, before a fat tear rolled down his cheek.

 

" _Brian doesn’t love me anymore_!" John suddenly cried out, despair clear in his voice. Roger blinked.

 

"What? No, c’mon, the guy practically worships the ground you’re walking on –"

 

" _Well, not anymore_!" Christ, forget getting hearing loss from drumming – John was apparently going to see to that.

 

"… Okay," he said slowly. "How about I get you settled with a nice cuppa, order you some Chinese take-out, and you tell me what this is all about."

 

.

 

"– and then he says, ‘ _If you’re cold John, why are you only wearing a shirt? It’s November_.’" Roger bit his lip in an effort not to laugh. John had calmed down somewhat, thank God, and was viciously tearing into his Kung Pao Chicken, while he recapped what had happened with him and Brian.

 

"Well, it does sound like Brian," Roger tried to placate. "I mean, as brilliant as he is, when it comes to love, he’s not the brightest bulb in the box, is he?" John muttered something Roger didn’t quite catch. "I mean, how long did it take him to realize you were trying to seduce him?"

 

"Four months," John replied, flushing slightly.

 

Roger shot him a shit-eating grin. "Four months! Exactly my point, Deaky. And let me tell you, you weren’t being subtle by the end – Fred and I had bets going, actually."

 

"You had _what_?" John asked, clearly put out.

 

"And of course that rotter won," Roger muttered under his breath. "But never you mind _that_. What I’m trying to say is, you just gotta spell it out for the man if you want a good dicking." Thinking he made a good point, he pointed his chopsticks at the other man, grinning mischievously. The grin quickly fell when he saw that John looked more miserable than before.

 

"It’s just –" John began. "After we got together, I’ve never had to initiate anything, really. Brian was –" John halted, chewing his lip. "Roger, am I sexy?"

 

Roger choked on a bite of Lo Mein.

 

"Deaky, what the _fuck_?"

 

John averted his eyes. "I mean – maybe it’s because I’m getting old?"

 

"We’re _all_ getting old," Roger said. "You’re the youngest!" It went unheard.

 

"Maybe he’s found someone younger –"

 

"Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there," Roger said, putting down his food. "Brian isn’t cheating on you. He _wouldn’t_." John shot him a pointed look.

 

"I know," he sighed. "He hasn’t got exactly the best track record with it, but you’re not his stay-at-home-girlfriend or wife, or some stripper he’s met on the road – you’re his _equal_ ," he emphasized. "You’re twenty-five percent of Queen, _like him_ , a gifted songwriter and musician, _like him_ , and you’re on the road the better part of a year, like him _– with_ him."

 

"Then what’s his damn problem all of a sudden?" John spat, but Roger could see he was trying to cover up the hurt underneath. He rubbed his temple.

 

"You’re the first guy he’s with, right?" John nodded, flush high on his cheeks. Adorable. "This is just a minor – bump in the road, okay? He’s just gotta get used to –"

 

"We were fine a year ago, though," John said tonelessly. "Rog, when we started, he was on me almost 24/7, I mean, Christ, we did it on every available surface –"

 

"Yeah, don’t remind me," Roger grimaced. The times he (and Freddie) had walked in on them in various states of undress were both countless and awkward – and Roger could admit to himself that his two friends fucking had been a sight to behold, but no one needed to see _that_.

 

"– My point being, it’s gone now! There’s no fire, no spark, no _passion_. He’s either too tired or he’s working or he’s angry with me about the fucking album, and I’m tired of having to initiate all the time with close to no results! It’s as if he doesn’t _care_ anymore!" John took a shuddering breath. "It feels forced, I feel trapped and I – I’m tired. I don’t want that." Roger listened with growing dread. That sounded serious – dead serious.

 

"Listen to me John," he said quietly, scooting closer to him, covering his clenched hands with his own. "Brian adores you. He has for years, has been pining for you even as you’ve been with Ronnie and he with Chrissie and vice versa." John’s lip wobbled. "There’s always a rough patch after the honeymoon phase, and you’re both hitting that patch right now. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you anymore, it just means both of you have to put in some actual work into this, now. And yeah, the shifting dynamic in the studio probably doesn’t help either, but –"

 

He was interrupted by a growl. "Oh, so you’re telling me to back down too –" Roger felt his own anger spark at the words.

 

"Shut your trap for a second, Deaky," he snapped back. "I was going to say you should _absolutely_ be more assertive if that’s what you want; that’s good, even. Keep him on his toes."

 

"But you _hate_ this album," John retorted. Roger snorted. ‘Hot Space’, more like ‘Hot _Mess’_.

 

"I’m not exactly a fan, no," Roger agreed. "But it’s nice to see you kick some ass, even if it’s my own on occasion. Don’t throw the towel." For the first time that night, a smile bloomed on John’s face, eyes crinkling just the tiniest bit. Roger couldn’t help but return it.

 

"I – Yeah, I suppose you’re right," John said.

 

"There we go," Roger replied, relieved. "Now, since Brian is literally the most oblivious person I’ve ever known, you have to spell things out for him – and neither of you should take your work home, Deaks." John raised his shoulders, looking defensive.

 

"It’s never been a problem before," he said. "I know, I need to talk to him about it but he’s –"

 

"He’s Brian," Roger finished with a grin. "Sensitive, headstrong, infuriating perfectionist, Brian, who you love more than anyone," his grin softened to a smile, gentle and understanding.

 

"Yeah," John replied, voice thick with emotion. "God help me, but I do." Roger pats his hands before letting go.

 

"You haven’t picked the easiest partner by a mile, but then, neither has he," Roger continues. "You’re just as bull-headed as he is, you hold grudges longer than the rest of us put together, and you don’t relent until you get your way."

 

"I thought you were trying to cheer me up," John said after a moment, looking slightly disgruntled.

 

"I’m trying to be a good friend," Roger retorted. "And as a friend to you both, I got to stay fair." John mulled over his words for a while, and Roger started collecting the leftovers from the take out, willing to give John time to come to terms with what had been said.

 

"Rog, can I stay here tonight?" John asked meekly when he returned from the kitchen. Roger raised an eyebrow. "I just – I don’t want to go home, and I told Brian not to wait up anyway."

 

Roger sighed. "You can always stay here, Deaky, but promise you’ll talk to him soon, okay? You two have a really good thing going, and it would be a shame if some shoddy album got between that." John’s eyes sparked with annoyance for a moment, but then he deflated.

 

"You’re a really good friend, Rog," he said. "I don’t say it enough, but you are." There was something warm crawling up Roger’s throat, but he squashed it down.

 

"I’m expecting you to send me the most expensive fruit basket you can find once this blows over, Deaky," he grinned over his shoulder as he made his way back to the kitchen to set down their glasses. "Couch okay to you?"

 

"Yeah, sure," John yawned. "You know," he called. "You give amazing advice for someone who’s never been quite serious about relationships."

 

Roger laughed in reply, thankful he was almost in the kitchen so John couldn’t see him wince at the words.


	2. Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do try, but it's not easy, especially when John's diss track surfaces. Yes. That one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> Or - Hello and welcome to round three of "I'm back at my bullshit". I have nothing to say for myself except that this is a VERY self-indulgent work of fiction as always. Thank you all for commenting on the first chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

"It’s disco, Brian, it doesn’t _need_ guitars," John snapped back, spitting the words right into his lover’s angry, red face. Brian’s face cycled through a plethora of emotions, before it settled on carefully blank. John winced at the cold look Brian shot him, wishing he could take the callous words back. The other studio assistants and Ratty had already fled for a ‘smoke break’.

 

"If that’s the case," Brian replied, voice soft, measured and dangerous. "Then I don’t really see the point of me being here."

 

"I don’t really see it either if you’re acting like this."

 

John hated himself the moment the words left his mouth, hated how his temper got the better of him in that moment. The damage was done, however, as Brian turned away and gathered his guitar case, leaving without another word. John had seen the crumpled expression, and his heart ached.

 

A drumstick hit him at the back of his head.

 

"Deaky, are you _joking_?" Roger exclaimed, face thunderous. "That was _cruel!_ " John is glad that it was just Roger left in the studio, Freddie not having shown up yet. He couldn’t have taken the disappointment from Freddie’s expressive eyes.

 

"I –" he stutters. "He was being a twat, I – I just got so _mad_ ," he replied helplessly. His eyes stung, face hot with shame. "I didn’t mean –"

 

"Well, what the fuck are you waiting for, you great big pillock? Go after him!" John blinked. " _Go!_ "

 

John went.

 

.

 

He found Brian not far from the recording studio, sitting in a café, tucked in the far back. Brian looked up when he approached, eyes slightly red. John felt his heart painfully squeezing. He had done that.

 

"Can I sit?" Brian considered him for a moment, corners of his mouth downturned.

 

"Are you going to tell me some more about how my guitar isn’t needed in a _Rock n’ Roll_ band?"

 

"No," John said. "That was unfair of me."

 

"It was," Brian agreed tonelessly, before he sighed. "Sit." John did.

 

"So," John began. "I was acting like a great big pillock, as Roger has so kindly called it, and I –"

 

"Are you only apologizing because Roger told you to? In that case, you should leave." Brian’s face was still carefully blank, but John could see the cracks of his indifferent mask.

 

"I wanted to apologize even before I said it. Roger just gave me a good kick in the arse." Brian kept silent. "I’m sorry Bri. You didn’t deserve any of that." Brian considers him for long time, and John can literally see him gather his thoughts and smoothing them out before opening his mouth.

 

"I wasn’t exactly being courteous, either," he said at last. John hid a smile. "This really shouldn’t be so difficult, should it?"

 

John frowned. "What?"

 

"Balancing our work and our relationship," Brian said carefully. John exhaled.

 

"It’s just – a minor bump, Bri. We just gotta work for this to work, now," he said, echoing Roger’s words from the other day. He bit his lip. "You do still want this, want us, though?" He couldn’t help but ask. Brian’s face fell.

 

"Oh, John, no," he whispered. "Of course I do – are things really so horrible between us that you’ve been doubting us?" John shrugged.

 

"It’s just – I miss you, and you’re either angry and won’t talk to me, or busy, or –" John broke off.

 

"Or what?" Brian asked, encouraging.

 

"Or _tired_ ," John said miserably. Brian frowned, apparently not understanding. ‘Y _ou just gotta spell it out for the man if you want a good dicking!’_ Roger’s voice rang out cheerfully in his head. He took a deep breath.

 

"Brian, are you tired of me? Tired of our sex life, I mean," he added. Brian’s mouth fell open.

 

"I – _what_?" He asked incredulously. John shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful. "But we –" Brian paused, gears turning. "Oh. I suppose it’s been a while, hasn’t it?" He asked gently. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

 

"I tried to give you – signs," John finished lamely. Brian studied him, before his eyes grew wide.

 

" _Oh_ , the night we went out to grab a bite and you wore that pretty shirt of yours! John, I’m _so_ sorry," he said aghast when John nodded. "You looked lovely – you always do!"

 

John looked down. "Then why–?"

 

Brian looked distressed, fiddling with the teacup, not looking at John either. "It’s – I’ve just been trying to distance myself from this album. You know it’s not –" he trailed off. "It’s just difficult, coming home to the person you’re frustrated with at work." He said it carefully, words picked delicately. It didn’t stop John from feeling the stab of _anger-hurt-frustration_ , but he pushed it aside. It was the same for him, too.

 

"I know. It’s just – don’t you _miss_ it?" John asked, unable to let some of his frustration, of his desperation seep into his voice.

 

"God, I do," Brian replied immediately, sounding equally sorry and frustrated. "It’s a unique situation – and I just can’t _stop_ when I leave the studio." John could tell Brian was angry, but knew him enough to see the anger was directed inwards. "Maybe," Brian began slowly. "Maybe we should just – put it off? For a while, at least, until the album’s done?"

 

John felt cold dread growing in his stomach. "We can’t put _us_ off just for the sake of an album, though." Brian deflated.

 

"You’re right," he sighed. "We can’t."

 

"So what do we do now?" John asked pointedly.

 

"We try to do better."

 

.

 

They did try, and for a few days, it seemed to work, somewhat. Their brewing arguments were staved off before they grew legs, with one of them usually leaving the room to take a break. Also, Prenter’s absence helped, since he had been demoted from being Freddie’s personal lapdog to mouthpiece for management – and Jim was partly to thank for that, since he hadn’t been keen on Prenter being around Freddie at all times either, and had told Freddie he didn’t want him in the house unless on band business.

 

They were slowly gaining productivity in the studio, and Brian and John had even managed to go on a sort-of-date, which ended in a heated make-out session against their kitchen counter, both frantically grinding on each other until they both came into their pants like teenagers. The day after, John was sort of floating his way through recording, and Roger looked both encouraging and wicked whenever he caught John’s eye. Freddie just seemed plain relieved the tension had dissipated to a normal level.

 

That was of course when everything went sideways again.

 

"Deaky, we haven’t worked on your song yet! Have you even told the others?" Freddie asked cheerfully, waving a music sheet over his head.

 

"Huh? What so–" _Oh, fuck_. "No, that was nothing, just scrap it." He said hastily, trying to hide the desperation underneath. Brian was looking at him curiously, and Freddie remained oblivious to his sudden distress. Roger, however, put down his drumsticks, looking at John with a pinched, assessing look.

 

"What? Oh, but it’s got a fantastic groove, Deaky, it _has_ to be on –"

 

" _No!_ " John exclaimed. Then he made the mistake of looking at Brian. Brian set down his Lady.

 

"I didn’t know you had written another song, John," Brian said, voice measured. "What’s it called, Fred?"

 

"Freddie, _don’t_ –" John said, but it went unheard by the singer.

 

"It’s called ‘Back Chat’, darling, and –" Brian was at Freddie’s side in three long strides, plucking the sheets out of his hands. Ratty, who had until then watched from a distance, grabbed Crystal’s stand-in by the arm and dragged him out.

 

John’s entire frame sagged in defeat as Brian’s eyes grew dark as he quickly read through the song. He handed it back to Freddie, who seemed to have caught on something was amiss. Brian turned to John.

 

"’Back Chat’, huh?" Brian said, voice low, in a way that John knew Brian was moments away from exploding.

 

"I wrote it before we – talked," he said lamely. "I was angry, and frustrated, and I forgot all about it till now." Brian closed his eyes in a visible effort to remain calm. "Brian," John tried carefully, taking a step forward him. Brian raised his hand, making John stop in his tracks.

 

"I can’t be here right now. I – I’m going home." With that, Brian walked out.

 

"That could’ve gone better," Roger said sarcastically from behind him. "What’s that, his third storm-out in a week?"

 

"I – did I miss something?" Freddie wondered. He squinted at the lyrics again.

 

"The lyrics are about Bri," Roger supplied, lighting a cigarette.

 

" _What_? Oh, and I’ve gone and cocked it up!" Freddie said regretfully. "But, darling, why would you write it in the first place?" John looked at the ground, cheeks flaring with heat.

 

"They’ve been having troubles," Roger said in his stead. "You know, in the bedroom."

 

" _Roger!_ " John hissed. "I told you that in confidence. It’s private –"

 

"Not when it affects half the band like this, it’s not," Roger argued back. "What happened anyway? I thought you guys were working it out!"

 

"Well, it was! We made progress, we even had a make-out session – I had my first orgasm in _weeks_ that wasn’t self-induced!"

 

"From a make-out session?" Roger asked, affronted on his behalf. "Jesus. What are you, twelve?"

 

"Well, you try having a dry-spell drier than the Sahara –"

 

"I _just_ remembered Jim wanted me home early to talk about flowers for – uhm, Mary’s wedding!" Freddie said out of nowhere, voice pressed. When they turned to look at him, he seemed nervous, weirdly pale. He sprung to his feet, gathering his jacket.

 

"Mary’s getting _married_?" Roger asked incredulously. "When did _that_ happen?"

 

"What? No, don’t be silly darling," he said absentmindedly as he hurried out the door. "No one’s getting married." The door fell shut behind him.

 

"Typical," Roger muttered.

 

"Sorry," John said timidly.

 

Roger rolled his eyes. "You keep saying sorry to the wrong person, Deaky." He got up from behind his drum kit and guided John to sit on one of the plastic chairs. "Since Freddie just abandoned us, you might as well talk to me."

 

"I keep fucking it up," John said miserably. Roger bumped his shoulder.

 

"I’m pretty sure there’s two people in every relationship."

 

"Yeah, but –" John huffed. "It’s just getting too much, and I don’t know if we _can_ work it out." Roger remained silent for a while, eventually lighting another cigarette, offering one to John.

 

"Are you giving up already?"

 

John closed his eyes. "I don’t _want_ to," he pressed out, chest tight. "But both Queen and our relationship is suffering, and I’ve never had _any_ relationship this difficult to manage."

 

"What you need to ask yourself," Roger said slowly, looking into the distance. "Is if it’s worth it? The fights, the tears, the loneliness, the bad or boring or difficult parts in-between. Is _Brian_ worth it?"

 

John sniffed. "God help me, but he is." That wasn’t something he had ever doubted. He had loved Ronnie; he still did, for many things.

 

But _Brian_. Despite their differences, their difficulties and clashing personalities, he would tear the moon from its orbit just so Brian could have it. He had told Brian that once, and Brian had laughed, and had given a long speech about how that would literally tear the world apart. And despite John not having the slightest interest in Astrophysics, he had listened, enraptured, thinking the world would be worth losing for Brian a thousand times over.

 

"See?" Roger said, soft smile lighting up his face as he nudged him gently. "You’re already half-way there. You’ll work it out, or Freddie and I would be forever cross." John snorted.

 

"No offense, but right now, I couldn’t care less about what you and Freddie think."

 

"That’s the spirit!" Roger crowed, slapping his shoulder. "Now for fuck’s sake, go to the man and suck his cock!"

 

John stomped on Roger’s foot, but he couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will grow longer as the story progresses (I tried to stick to a under 2k chapters rule but the smut had other ideas whoops)
> 
> So far, ten chapters are already written - so you won't be left hanging ;). This work will post on Wednesdays weekly, until/if we catch up to the present, then posting schedule will be as I see fit. 
> 
> Leave Kudos and some feedback, I love talking to you guys!


	3. Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is beyond frustrated (horny) at this point, and Roger gives him an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES 
> 
> HAVE AT THE FIRST TIDBIT OF SMUT - MUCH MORE TO COME ;)
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

"Are you _sure_ you’re enjoying yourself?" Brian asked for the third time. John hummed around Brian’s cock, part agreement and part annoyance. This had been a disastrous day, and John was determined to make it a _very_ good night.

 

He’d gone home after a few hours, giving Brian some time to cool off, expecting a fight, but when he’d gotten home, Brian had almost immediately been on him, anger still burning in his eyes, manhandling John into their bedroom, accompanied with hands leaving bruises on his hips, lips frantically on his, and teeth nipping at his throat. John had felt giddy, the words ‘ _Fuck, yes, finally,’_ on repeat in his mind as Brian made quick work on his clothes, John too dazed by the sudden surge of raw passion to notice most of his clothes had even been discarded until he shivered at the cold air. Enthusiastically, John had all but ripped the shirt and pants off Brian, making quick work of his underwear too.

 

This was so much better than fighting or talking or not-talking. John had been waiting for something like this for _weeks_ , having grown tired of his own hand – the kitchen-incident barely counting. His own cock still hadn’t entirely gotten with the program just yet, but John was so _starved_ he just wanted _something_. He looked up at Brian from under his eyelashes, who was looking back with concern clearing his hazy eyes.

 

He released Brian’s cock with a wet sound. "Does it _look_ like I’m not enjoying myself?" He asked, voice husky. Brian was already breathing heavily, chest heaving, pupils blown. There was hesitance bleeding in his features, however, and John wanted it gone, _now_. Brian opened his mouth, and John decided it was the perfect moment to swallow Brian’s cock down in one go.

 

Brian jerked violently, a long moan falling from his lips, his fingers winding into John’s hair. John smirked; he was good at this, knew exactly what to do to drive Brian mad, and he liked doing it – being able to reduce the other man to incoherent babbling while being on his knees. He sighed happily, pulling off almost fully, suckling the head, before he pulled off, instead mouthing along the length of his cock, teasing a vein with his tongue. Brian shuddered above him, eyes shut, hands still in his hair. John paused, too quick for Brian to notice, before he continued, taking him in his mouth again. Usually, _before_ _this mess_ , Brian would eagerly tug at his hair, basically fuck his face, but now he was just resting his hands in his hair, unmoving. He hoped it meant nothing, that it was just something new, but he couldn’t help but think about Brian’s face today in the studio, drawn, eyes angry and lost. John tried to smother the flare of doubt, he really did, but this was different, it felt different – and it shouldn’t, it was just him sucking Brian’s _very_ nice cock, something he’d done a dozens time before –

 

"John!" Brian gasped, hand moving to cup his neck. John slowed, blinking up at him. Brian laughed breathlessly at his look of confusion. "If you continue at this pace, I’ll come down your throat before I even touch you." John slowly, torturously dragged his mouth off Brian’s cock. Brian followed the movement hungrily, gaze fixed on John’s lips even after he pulled off. John swallowed.

 

"How do you want me, Bri?"

 

Brian gave him a slow, wicked smile that made him shiver. "Get up here," he said. John scrambled up, almost head-butting his lover from his haste to get onto his lap, making Brian chuckle. "Eager, are we?"

 

"Bri, you have _no_ idea," John moaned grinding down on Brian’s hard cock, focusing on the feeling of Brian’s long cock rubbing against his still clothed arse – or tried to. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling frustrated. "C’mon," he whispered, more to himself than Brian, burying his head in Brian’s curls, mouthing at his ear. Brian breathed out a laugh, hands wandering down his back, reading his frustration as impatience. He found John’s arse quickly enough, massaging his cheeks with his long fingers. John leaned into the touch, begging his less than half-hard cock to _get with the program_ before –

 

Brian’s other hand fell on his cock, and then he stilled.

 

"John?" Brian asked carefully.

 

"I’m _so_ sorry," John mumbled against Brian’s neck, mortified. "I don’t know what’s going on."

 

"Is it me?" Brian asked. John’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

 

"No Brian, you’re – God, you’re perfect, and I want this, I _do_ , but –" he trails off.

 

"But?" Brian prompted, voice indefinably gentle and understanding. It made John tear up a little.

 

"It’s just – are you still mad at me? Because there’s been nothing for weeks, and now, the song, and –"

 

"It’s not doing it for you, then? This, ah, angry thing?" John swallowed.

 

"Maybe if you give me a bit more time –"

 

Brian looked horrified. "I don’t want you to _force_ yourself, John."

 

John whined in frustration. "This is ridiculous, we’re better at this, I know we are!" He cried.

 

"John, it’s alright, love," Brian said soothingly, cupping his face. "I only want this if _you_ do."

 

"I’m sorry," John repeated, rueful. Brian kissed his temple.

 

"Hush."

 

.

 

"Alright, who died?" Roger's voice came from his right, warm body sidling up to him.

 

"What?" snapped John, not really listening.

 

"You look like someone just killed your puppy. Since you don't _have_ a puppy, I'm guessing it's got something to do with our resident guitar-playing poodle, which, close enough."

 

"You're less witty than you think you are," John informed him.

 

Roger grinned. "I'm a goddamn delight," he retorted. "But seriously, what crawled up your ass and died? Your playing today was a bit, uh –" John glared at him. He knew he had been unusually distracted, so much that it had actually affected his playing, which in turn had thrown Roger off. Freddie had stalked off sometime after noon, claiming this wasn't any use like this. John couldn't even blame him.

 

"The problem is that _nothing_ crawled up my ass," John muttered.

 

"Uh?" Roger said intelligently.

 

"I tried your advice – it didn’t work."

 

"What advice?" Roger asked, frowning.

 

"Sucking his cock," John replied. Roger gawked.

 

"Didn’t _work_? Brian didn’t want his cock sucked? Maybe I should talk to him, that can’t be normal –"

 

"No," John said, voice barely above a whisper. "It didn’t work for _me_."

 

"Well," Roger said after a long pause. "At least Brian’s not the only one who can’t get it up, it seems." John shot him a withering look. "Sorry," Roger said, not really sounding sorry. "What happened?" He asked, voice softer.

 

"We were both still angry, and it was going actually pretty well, but –" John cut off, frustration clouding his mind again.

 

"Anger not working out for you?"

 

"No," John sighed. "Not with – with everything else going on."

 

"Okay," Roger shrugged. "If emotions work for Brian, but angry doesn't for _you_ , at least right now _,_ you need some other emotional tie between you."

 

"Like what?"

 

Roger sighed, muttering something under his breath John didn't quite hear. "Like – I don't know, something significant – somewhere you first fucked, a first date, _not the first kiss though_ , Fred and I don't want to see you two devour like that again, thanks."

 

John snorted. "Please, we provided you with better wanking material you'd ever get out of any porn," he joked. Roger rolled his eyes, but his neck was flushed. "But recreating the first date might actually not be a bad idea," he said thoughtfully.

 

"Yeah? What'd you do?"

 

"I rented out a Planetarium after closing time, the whole place to ourselves. It was quite nice." Roger nodded approvingly. "Then I got on my knees and sucked his cock for hours –"

 

 _"Jesus Christ, John_ , I don't need to know that," Roger cried.

 

"You asked!" Roger made a show of shuddering in disgust, clearly faked.

 

"Don't _tell_ me about it, go _do_ it!"

 

.

 

The lady responsible for the bookings in the local Planetarium cooed at him when he went by to ask if they could have the place to themselves again, instantly recognizing him, even after over a year (she had no idea Brian and he were famous – a refreshing change, for once). She even had insisted it was free of charge, they could just donate to the Planetarium if they felt up to it.

 

It was another challenge entirely to wrangle Brian to the Planetarium and keeping it a secret – Brian asking constantly and repeatedly where they were going, and John just about managed to smile at him through gritted teeth, trying not to lose his cool. It was worth it, however, when Brian's face lit up the moment they rounded the corner of the street, even going so far to tug John along excitedly.

 

They spent the better part of the late evening walking around the exhibits, John enjoying the sight of his boyfriend in his element, chattering and explaining everything John pointed to. Again, John couldn't be less arsed about Astronomy, except for indulging Brian. He had a completely different energy about it than music, and John thought it was nice seeing Brian enjoying himself without a potential argument rearing its ugly head. It had been a long week in and out of the studio, and John was glad to see the tightness around Brian's eyes and mouth slowly relaxing.

 

"C'mon," he said, tugging Brian towards the auditorium, twinkle in his eyes. Brian smiled at him, soft and genuine and sweet, and John felt all over like this was their first actual date, heart pounding. His cock gave a twitch of interest due to the anticipation John was feeling.

 

They got settled, cuddled into the large plush seats right at the front. It was a different showing than the last time, and for about five minutes, he was actually invested in the admittedly beautiful pictures, before he remembered why he was here in the first place, set down his drink, hand falling on Brian's knee, already halfway out of his seat, turning to the other man.

 

He was greeted with a soft snore.

 

John blinked, and blinked again, uncomprehending. There was anger and mortification and frustration surging in him. He fell back into his seat with a loud thud. He was seconds away from screaming, and he took a deep breath in an effort to stave off an actual tantrum, resigning himself to his fate.

 

It had been a long week.

 

.

 

Roger was sucking in his cheek in an effort not to laugh outright. John glowered at him. Roger bit his lip.

 

"It's not funny."

 

"No," Roger agreed, voice pressed, corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously. "It's _sad_."

 

John groaned. "I _know_." His cock was sad about it, too.

 

"Did he say anything, after?" Roger asked delicately. John sighed.

 

"Yeah, and he was very sweet about it, super apologetic, and I couldn't stay mad at him."

 

"... Did you go to rub one out in the bathroom again?" John made a defeated noise. "You've got to have the worst luck, mate," Roger said, sympathetic.

 

"You know, fourteen-year-old me had more going than me, at this rate," John lamented. Roger whistled.

 

"Now, _I'm_ getting depressed, Deaky." Roger jiggled his leg, lost in thought. "You know, makes me actually want to be there with you lot, helping you guys figure this out, or at least not making it worse," Roger laughed. John blinked.

 

Roger was still talking, but John wasn't really listening anymore.

 

Now there was an idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will grow longer as the story progresses (I tried to stick to a under 2k chapters rule but the smut had other ideas whoops)
> 
> So far, eleven chapters are already written - so you won't be left hanging ;). This work will post on Wednesdays weekly, until/if we catch up to the present, then posting schedule will be as I see fit. 
> 
> Leave Kudos and some feedback, I love talking to you guys!


	4. Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a suggestion that has Brian reeling - and he has to make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> This one is a bit of a shortie... however, enjoy delving into the mind of one poodle-haired astrophysicist ;)
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

John fell back on the bed, chest heaving. Brian wished he could say it was due to his efforts, but John was simply frustrated beyond belief. Brian sighed, letting himself fall on their large bed next to John, stretching out.

"This isn't working," John informed him, looking up at the ceiling. Brian closed his eyes.

"No," he agreed. "John, I'm sor–"

"No," John frowned. "The words 'I'm sorry' aren't allowed in this bed anymore. This isn't –" he trailed off, unsure how to articulate himself. "We've tried everything, short of actual counselling."

"John, you know we can't –" John laughed, rather humorlessly.

"I know, Bri. And Roger's advice seems to help, but only to –"

"You've been talking to Roger?" Brian asked, sounding maybe more accusing than he meant to. John's eyes flashed, warning clear in his eyes.

"I had to talk to _someone_ ," he said evenly. "And he's not just some random guy, he's our best friend." Brian deflated.

"No, I know," Brian said. "Sorry for –" John shot him a look, part reprimanding, part amused. "It's just – it's _Roger_ ," he tried to explain. John hummed, lost in thought.

"He actually gave me some very good advice over the past few weeks," he told Brian. "I know we sometimes tease him about his – _ah_ – short-lasting relationships, but I'm beginning to think it's not _him_ that's the problem."

"Was the advice that good?" Brian asked, amused.

"It's not the advice that's the problem," John said, turning to face Brian, head propped up on his elbow. "It's us." Brian couldn't help but tense.

"John –" he said, looking up at him with apprehension. John's face softened immediately, one hand reaching out to cup Brian's face. Brian closed his eyes and leant into the touch.

"I'm not saying I don't want us anymore," John said gently. "Far from it. But right now, it's not working, whatever we're doing, whatever we're trying. And it's –" John exhaled. "You know, for two songwriters, we're rather bad at finding the right words; at communicating." Brian snorted, opening his eyes again and gazing up at John. He was bathed in dim, soft light, looking warm and inviting and like everything Brian had ever wanted. He reached out to cup John's cheek, copying him. John turned to kiss his palm, touch no more than a butterfly's wing.

"I could never give up on this," Brian said. John breathed out against his palm, eyes fluttering. "On _you_ ," he adds. "We'll work something out; we have to." John looked at him, eyes unreadable.

"I might have an idea," he said slowly, hesitatingly, as if testing out the words. Brian looked up at him expectantly. "It's, uh. Risky. And probably, no most definitely, the worst idea I've ever had, but I –"

"John," Brian called softly. " _Breathe_ , love." John calmed down, but he was looking away, biting his lip. Brian waited, growing uneasy at John's unusual hesitance.

"What if –" John cut himself off. "Okay," he began again. "Our main issue is that we're not communicating as we should, yeah?" Brian nodded slowly. "Okay, good. Or, not. And we've tried everything, but there seems to be an – insecurity? Reluctance? On both our parts." John looked at Brian carefully, asking. Brian nodded again. John nodded too, more to himself. "Normally, this would be where couples would probably consider therapy. But, for obvious reasons, that's not gonna happen for us," he sighed. Brian thought that it was rather unfair that as two men, their relationship would not be taken serious by the outside world, still. "And talking to each other hasn't really gotten us anywhere." Brian gestured John to continue, who hesitated, before he took a deep breath. "Brian, if I don't get to fuck you in one way or another _real_ soon, I'm committing murder," John rushed out.

"I – I figured," Brian said slowly. "Your suggestion?"

John picked at a loose thread of their pillow. "Alright, just – don't hate me," he said quietly.

"John –" Brian began.

" _IthinkRogershouldjoinusinbed_ ," John said in one breath, looking anywhere but at Brian.

Brian sat up. "Come again?"

"I think Roger –"

"No, I heard you, I just – _what in the hell_? _Roger_? Why would you –"

"Listen, Bri," John said, tone even. "We're fucking up our relationship. We need help in a specific department. Roger happens to be somewhat of an expert –"

"John, have you _lost your mind_? How does inviting a third party, _especially_ Roger, solve anything? This would completely overcomplicate things – the opposite of what we're trying to do!" John shook his head.

"No it wouldn't," he disagreed. "I know it's – a bit weird, but –"

"It's _Roger_ ," Brian repeated.

"Yeah, that's my point! He wouldn't judge us, he wouldn't tell anyone, and, well, we both know he's a very considerate lover, if the girls _and_ guys floating out of his room back in the day looking like they just had met God were any indication." Brian huffed.

"How did you even _get_ the idea?" Brian muttered, scowling at the ceiling. That was absolutely not what he had expected. He scowled harder.

"That's gonna stick, you know?" John said, poking his forehead. "Brian, I wouldn't suggest it if I had any other ideas left." John's voice was soft, begging. Brian turned to look at him. John looked pleading, and underneath, he looked scared.

"It's – not where I expected this conversation to go," he admitted. John hid a twisted smile.

"I know," John said quietly. "Roger made some dumb joke, but it stuck with me, and just – maybe him being here would kick us into gear again – if he agrees, of course."

"You didn't ask him?" John raised an elegant eyebrow.

"I wouldn't make such a step without you, Bri. And if you really, _really_ are repulsed by the idea, just say the word and I won't ever suggest something like this again." Brian had rarely seen John look so serious.

"I – Give me some time to – not balk at the mere idea of Roger being anywhere near us while doing – stuff," he said, face twisting. John's face softened into an amused grin.

"That's all I ask – and I mean it," John added. "Say the word, and the idea is off the table."

"And then what?" Brian couldn't help but ask.

"Then we'll figure something out," John replied, voice strong. Brian could hear the lingering doubt underneath the words, though.

.

The next few days passed in haze for Brian. Most of it, he was ashamed to admit, wasn't exactly spent – _thinking_ , as John suggested, but looking at Roger, or John, or, most of all, looking at _John-and-Roger_.

Brian was not blind to the fact that Roger was magnetic – _pretty_ too plain a word to describe him. Brian had always been aware, since the earliest days of _Smile_ , how people tended to flock to the drummer, Brian himself not entirely immune to the force that was Roger's smile.

And yet – it was _Roger_ , the first out of the three other misfits he'd called _brother_ ; and he meant it, too. Roger was like the little brother he'd never had (or wanted) until he'd came stumbling into Brian's life, like a leech you couldn't help but get attached to in turn. The mere idea of even looking at Roger in any other way was outlandish, Brian's mind automatically recoiling –

 _And yet_.

In the days that followed John's suggestion, he did a fair amount of watching – observing. Watched John and Roger together, as they often were, laughing or giggling, heads bowed close, to a joke neither he nor Freddie were privy to. And Brian couldn't help but notice how easily they orbited each other, how their touches seemed to linger, not too long, but still linger, both almost unbearably fond of the other.

 _Christ_ , but they looked good together.

Brian watched on, barely noticing Freddie getting up in a huff after no reaction, and it was that moment that John chose to look up, eyes heavy, unreadable.

Imploring, Brian thought.

.

The thing was, it would be _easy_. So, so easy to fall into bed with Roger, because Roger was easy – not like that, not really, not anymore, but easy to like, easy with people, easy with sex.

It was that easiness that scared Brian the most.

Because, as easy as it seemed _now_ , it likely would change their dynamic, not just between John and himself, but between them and Roger, too. Brian wasn't afraid of change, but he was wary of what it would bring, of what would be left in the aftermath.

(If there was anything left.)

.

Brian knew John wouldn't appreciate the thought, but John was _his_. Brian wasn’t exactly a possessive man, but John had become everything to him; before him, love had been a solid, gentle, and easy thing. Brian knew better now, was thankful to who – or whatever made John love him back with the same ferociousness. And Brian didn't want to share any of it, of _John_ , with someone else.

.

He could tell John was getting – not exactly impatient, but antsy as the days passed and Brian still gave no inclination of what his decision would be. Doubts have been plaguing Brian, late into the nights, and he knew it showed. Everything that could go wrong haunted him in his dreams.

He desperately wanted to tell John no – the risks, the variables were too great, that he didn't want to risk this – _them_. But as he geared himself to tell John so – the thought gave him a pause.

He _was_ already risking them, with his inaction; he could feel it slowly crumbling, and it scared him – made him want to hold on desperately, but found the cracks were of his own making, too, and he couldn't fix them – not alone.

And Brian couldn't risk John.

The idea was outlandish, barely fathomable, but _because_ it was Roger, it was somehow less so.

.

"We should do it – if he says yes, that is," Brian said, out of nowhere. John choked on the sip of coffee he was having, early in the morning.

"Wha – _really_?" John blinked, dumbstruck. Brian nodded slowly.

"I still have some – _many_ – reservations," Brian told him. "But it's worth a try – _you're_ more than worth it." John's answering smile was slow, but brilliant, his beautiful grey-green eyes crinkling. It washed away the lingering doubts Brian still had left.

.

"Roger?" John asked measuredly. The drummer looked up, pen hanging from his mouth, frown still lingering from where he had been glaring at a lyric sheet.

"Yeah?" Brian and John exchanged a long look, before John gave a minuscule nod. Brian took a deep breath, before opening his mouth.

"We would like to ask you a question – or rather, make a proposition."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will grow longer as the story progresses (I tried to stick to a under 2k chapters rule but the smut had other ideas whoops)
> 
> So far, eleven chapters are already written - so you won't be left hanging ;). This work will post on Wednesdays weekly, until/if we catch up to the present, then posting schedule will be as I see fit.
> 
> Leave Kudos and some feedback, I love talking to you guys!


	5. Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger doesn't know what he feels or what he wants - but he makes a decision anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> Roger POV for this one ;). Also, next chapter will have The Smut, as promised ♥
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

"What the fuck," Roger muttered for probably the tenth time in as many minutes. He sat in a dingy bar near their studio, nursing a generous two fingers of bourbon.

 

No, _seriously_ , what the fuck.

 

_"We would like you to help us with our – problem."_

 

Fucking Brian.

 

_"Yeah, as in, our issues in bed."_

 

Fucking Deaky.

 

Who just invites an outsider into their bed to solve their sex life? John and Brian, apparently. Roger snorted humorlessly to himself, swirling the amber liquid in his glass absentmindedly.

 

This was a monumentally bad idea. Roger had no idea how they even came up with it, let alone be serious enough to _try_. Considering it had been Brian, stubborn, traditional, _oblivious_ Brian who had suggested it, had done most of the talking. However, he was aware that the outright dumb idea must’ve had come from John – Brian would _never_ , not on his own account. Roger was both curious about the how, the fact that John had browbeaten Brian to agree in the first place. Then he snorted into his glass when he remembered the strict _conditions_ that could’ve only come from Brian’s perpetually rigid and mind, sometimes weirdly traditional.

 

.

 

_"There would be conditions, of course," Brian enunciated carefully. Roger had still trouble picking off his jaw from the floor._

_"Conditions," he echoed lamely. John was scrutinizing him with that one laser-focused gaze that had people tremble in fear from it, but Roger barely spared it any thought, still reeling._

_"Yes," Brian said. "If we are to – do this, we need to establish a certain set of rules."_

 

_"I’m honestly still stuck on the fact that you want me to fuck you guys?" He said. "Like, I’m the last guy to judge people for spicing it up, but shouldn’t you solve your – err –_ issues _first?" John rolled his eyes from behind Brian._

 

_"We’re not asking you to_ spice it up _, you twat," John said. "We’re asking you to help us sort us out before –" John trailed off with a grimace, and Roger felt himself soften just the tiniest bit._

 

_"I know it’s – weird. You don’t have to decide right now, of course," Brian’s gentle voice came. "We just think your experience might be beneficial –"_

 

_"We’re desperate to get fucked,_ properly," _John interrupted drily. "And you’re somewhat of an expert." Brian turned to look at his partner disdainfully, but Roger shared a grin with John over Brian’s scowl, mood lightened somewhat._

 

_"Okay," Roger said after a pause. "You said something about conditions?" Brian straightened, and the tense way he was holding himself looked about as uncomfortable as Roger felt about all of this._

_"This cannot affect Queen," Brian said immediately. "It’s a – risk, already, me and John, and adding you to it –"_

_"Has the potential of an epic clusterfuck," Roger nodded._

_"Exactly," Brian sighed. "It also can’t affect our relationship. Or any potential one of yours," Brian added dubiously, the silent ‘if it should ever come to that’ was somewhat implied and Roger wanted to kick him. "And most of all, it can’t affect our friendship," Brian finished, looking tired. Roger squashed down the urge to reach out in comfort._

_"What, you afraid you’re gonna fall in love with me?" Roger grinned cheekily at him. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose._

_"Be serious, could you?" Brian said, maybe harsher than intended. John shot him a look._

_"Roger, we wouldn’t ask you if we weren’t desperate for_ any _kind of help," John interjected. "And you’re the only one we could trust with this."_

 

_And Roger_ did _know how desperate they were, could practically smell it on them whenever they were in near vicinity. Roger looked into the distance, chewing his lip in deep thought._

 

_"Not gonna lie, this is weird," he said at last. Brian opened his mouth, and Roger held up his hand. "I mean, you’re both attractive, I suppose, but that right here is an entirely different can of worms. I –" he trailed off. "Would you be mad at me if I said no?" He asked, quietly, not daring to look either John or Brian in the eyes._

_"Oh, Rog, of course not," Brian said immediately, sounding both relieved and sad._

_"It was just a question," John said, tone calm. When Roger_ did _look at them, John looked stiff, face blank. "Let’s just forget we’ve ever asked." Roger’s shoulders sagged with relief._

 

_"Thank fuck," he said. "Forgetting is a splendid idea. No offense, but there’s lines even_ I _don’t wanna cross." Brian nodded in understanding, and Roger refused to feel guilt at the lingering defeat he saw in Brian’s eyes. "Great. I’m off for a much needed drink. You guys wanna –?" Both shook their heads, and Roger also refused to feel guilty about the relief he felt at_ that _. He was unusually quick to leave the studio behind, but he found he didn’t quite care._

 

_God, but he needed to get plastered._

_"Told you he wouldn’t do it." Roger frowned as he heard the low-spoken words, John sounding sullen and resigned, clearly not meant for his ears._

_Roger had his back turned, so he didn’t see Brian’s confused frown or John’s cheshire grin._

 

.

 

A part of Roger, a large part, wanted to desperately forget that conversation ever happened. They had always been close, the four of them, but this –

 

Ah, who was he kidding? He knew his bandmates were fucking beautiful, and if at any point, earlier in their history, one of them had asked, he wouldn’t have minded a tumble in the sheets – or three. But both of them were relationship-people, and if there ever had been a chance, Roger had long since missed it – and one thing he refused to do was getting between two people, let alone his friends. Roger didn’t want to open that particular box of fantasies again, having shoved them away years ago, all but forgetting they ever existed.

 

Now they were offering, _willingly_ , and Roger was struggling with it. He chewed his lip in thought as he stared at the wall opposed to him, filled with expensive-looking bottles, unseeing. He was torn between wanting to help and jumping at the opportunity and coming to terms with it.

 

How in the world had they even come to a conclusion like this from a throw-away comment he’d made?

 

_They were desperate._

 

John had sounded as defeated as Brian looked when Roger had left them in the dust, relieved to be out of the awkward situation. This wasn’t just a sex-thing, not anymore. It was bleeding into their relationship, and eventually, it would affect the band on a much larger scale than John writing a diss-track about Brian.

 

_Was he being selfish?_

 

Roger signaled the bartender for another glass, trying to push down the uneasy feeling welling up in his chest. It wasn’t his problem – it _wasn’t_. He was not responsible for their problems, and that they even asked something like that of him was outrageous. Roger didn’t know if he should feel flattered or insulted – flattered they trusted him with something like this, or insulted; they would’ve never asked Freddie, even if he wasn’t in a committed relationship, so what did that make Roger?

 

A last resort, that’s what. _Lovely_. He snorted, and the bartender eyed him suspiciously, probably thinking he was just another washed up drunk trying to drown his sorrows, likely already calculating when he had to be kicked out and how much of a fuss he was going to put up.

 

The fact that this _was_ their last resort though – that meant things were about to go really sideways, frighteningly so, and –

 

_They might break up._

 

Roger set his glass down. If John and Brian broke up, that was the end. They wouldn’t be able to take it. _Queen_ wouldn’t be able to take it. Also, even if they’d only been together for a short while, considering, Roger couldn’t imagine a world where they weren’t together. They were like two bright stars, caught in a permanent dance across the night sky–

 

Roger scowled. He started to sound like _Brian_ , Jesus Christ.

 

He was overthinking this whole thing way too much, thinking of what-ifs and could’ve-beens instead of asking himself the right question.

 

_Could he do it?_

 

He thought of Brian, tearing away the fond feelings he felt, stripping away the familiarity – bright, beautiful, elegant Brian who was so intense and passionate. He thought about John, pretty, quiet and fierce, a bottomless mystery. Roger thought of them, separate, together, allowed himself for the first time in almost a decade to properly _imagine._

 

_Yes._

 

.

 

Roger let himself get friendly with his decision, ordering another drink and finishing, before he got up and left, taking his time on his way back, relishing in the cool air, breathing in slowly. The cold helped cleared the last of his tangled thoughts, leaving him to chuckle at himself. Leave it to Brian and John to hype him up, blowing something like this out of proportion. It was simple – his friends needed help, help that they trusted him to provide – and he _could_. How many times had he gone to John, in the middle of the night? And John had never batted an eye, even with a toddler on his hip. How many times had Brian helped him out, guided him, had been his fucking rock since the early days?

 

If they wanted his help with getting off, who was he to deny them? It wasn’t the same thing, exactly, as helping John restring his bass, or carrying Brian’s amp when his hands were full, no, but it was just – a more intimate (and awkward) way to _literally_ lend a hand.

 

Roger had had dozens of physical relationships, no strings attached, and this wasn’t even going to be that, apart from getting an eyeful of his friends’ private bits, and it wasn’t like he had never seen them naked, either.

 

‘Just treat it like business – like work, because ultimately, that’s is what it is.’

 

.

 

John opened the door, blinking at him in surprise, before he hid a knowing grin. ‘ _Cheeky minx_ ,’ Roger thought fondly. John had known exactly what he was doing.

 

"The Love Doctor is _in_ ," he said cheekily. "Where are my favorite patients?"

 

"Oh my God," John said, slamming the door in Roger’s face. It opened again almost in the same breath, a wide-eyed Brian behind it this time.

 

"Hi," Roger said.

 

"Hi," Brian echoed dumbly. Roger fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

 

"I changed my mind – is that okay?"

 

"I – yeah, _yeah_ , of course," Brian stammered, waving him in. John was further down the hallway, watching him with sharp eyes.

 

"Are you sure though, Roger?" He asked softly. "Because –" Roger stepped closer, until they shared the same breath, effectively silencing John. He looked up into John’s grey-green eyes, deliberately making himself just a bit shorter (not that he _needed_ to, John was tall enough) giving him a languid look through his eyelashes.

 

John swallowed.

 

"Have you ever known me for doing things I don’t _want_ to?" he stepped even closer, their chests brushing, and Roger tracked the movement of John’s tongue darting out to wet his lips, before he looked up again.

 

"No," John said, voice hoarse. Roger smirked up at him, before he looked at Brian, who stood frozen a few steps away from them, watching with rapt attention.

 

"Well?" Roger asked him, raising an eyebrow. Brian looked from him to John, and whatever he found in John’s eyes made him square his shoulders, nodding at Roger.

 

"Thank you," he said, voice thick. Roger’s smirk softened into a smile.

 

"Of course. We’re friends – I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t at least _try_ to help you out."

 

Brian shifted. "You do realize this is pretty far out of the norm –" Roger snorted.

 

"Are you trying to dissuade me from _your_ idea?" He teased, and saw John’s lips quirk.

 

"No, I just –" Brian sputtered. "I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and we need to be on the same page –"

 

"Brimi," Roger intoned, and Brian fell silent. "It’s going to make us feel uncomfortable as fuck, literally." John masked his snort with a cough. "But I promise the moment something feels wrong, I’ll tell you guys, as long as you two do the same." His suddenly serious tone made both of them look at him more soberly. "And this is – just helping out as you need." ‘ _It’s just business_.’

 

"Okay," John said, equally serious. "Thank you, Rog." Roger patted his shoulder, letting his hand linger.

 

"Now that that’s cleared up," Roger said, internally steeling himself. "Shall we?" Both blinked at him. Roger had never seen John blush so prettily.

 

" _Now_?" Brian asked, hesitating. Roger sighed.

 

"Well, do you have plans for tonight?" Both looked at him, uncomprehending, before Brian shook his head. "Then, _yeah_ , now," Roger shrugged. "Best get this started – it won’t get any less weird with time anyway."

 

"Alright," John spoke up, voice carefully controlled. Brian looked at John, before he looked at Roger with a look he had never seen before. It made his skin tingle.

 

"Alright," Brian echoed, stepping closer.

 

Roger grinned. "Alright."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 was just finished yesterday - it was a though one, but in a few weeks, you'll be able to enjoy 7k of pure smut ;).


	6. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was new to all of them - but that was not to say that John didn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> The Smut, as promised ♥ 
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

__

_God, this was awkward._

 

John tried to squash down the anxiety threatening to bubble to the surface, with almost no success. John had sucked cock dozens of times, had sucked _Brian’s_ cock dozens of times, but John was experiencing a major case of performance anxiety, and it was because of Roger, watching _intently_.

 

Roger was straddling a chair backwards, arms folded over the back, head carefully poised, face neutral. John couldn’t read him _at all_ , and it was making him sweat. Roger had decided he needed to get a look first before he got involved, so he could possibly assess on what they should work on specifically. He hadn’t made a sound when Brian and he got started, hesitatingly, and somehow the lack of reaction made John squirm. He breathed out through his nose, trying to focus again on his task. Brian, despite the hand he’d settled into John’s hair in encouragement, was only half-hard, and barely that. John couldn’t tell if it was due to Roger’s presence or the original problem.

 

His trail of thought was interrupted when he accidentally scraped his teeth just a tad too deeply over the underside of Brian’s cock, making Brian hiss and tug his hair painfully in the process.

 

"Okay, _stop_ ," Roger’s voice came, and John didn’t want to dwell on the relief he felt, pulling off Brian’s cock. They both looked at him. Roger got up from his chair, but didn’t step closer yet. "Is it always like this?"

 

Brian frowned. "Like what?"

 

"Like," Roger waved his hand. "Quiet. Awkward." John bit his lip.

 

"What do you mean, quiet?" Brian asked. Roger huffed, the first reaction that wasn’t carefully neutral.

 

"Don’t you people _talk_ during fucking?"

 

"Well –" John said. "Sometimes?" He shrugged, feeling defensive. Roger pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

 

"Sex isn’t just a – _curry in a hurry_ ," he said finally. John almost snorted, and Brian definitely looked amused. Roger scowled. "Shut up. What I’m trying to say is, sex is a _conversation_." They both looked at him with twin expressions of exasperation. "It’s – telling your partner what you like, _how_ you like it, and _encouragement_ , most of all. It’s communication."

 

"Okay?" Brian said, sounding unsure. "I mean, we do say when we don’t like something of course –"

 

John could see Roger was trying really hard not to roll his eyes. "And did you just _like_ what John was doing?" He challenged. Brian fell silent, and John felt his cheek burn in shame. Roger hummed. "And that’s why I’m here," Roger said, looking at John. "Oh, Deaks, c’mon," he said, softer, when he saw the humiliation creep onto John’s face. He stepped closer, and crouched down, settling a warm hand on his shoulder. "It’s not the end of the world – it’s not rocket science, just sucking cock."

 

"If it were, Brian would excel at it," John said from behind his hands.

 

"I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, really," Brian mused. Roger bit his lips to keep them from twitching. John glared at him.

 

"Okay, banter is good," Roger said, sounding chipper. "Back on track – c’mon, Deaky," he said, tugging his hands away from his face. When he found John’s eyes, he looked soft again, like he was looking directly into John’s very heart. Something in his eyes made John’s breath catch. "I’ll talk you through it, okay? In fact, for now, I’ll talk for you _both_ until you find your groove." John could only nod. "Splendid," Roger said, eyes glittering. "Touch him, John." Roger’s voice was soft, coaxing, and it sent shivers up John’s spine. Almost in trance he raised his hand, settling it on Brian’s half-erect cock.

 

"Gently," Roger said. "Brian looks like he wants to be teased, yeah?" Brian jerked minutely, eyes wide as he looked at Roger. Roger’s eyes fell on his cock for a second, before he flicked them to John. "Spread your legs wider, Bri," Roger coaxed. "Let him see you." Brian seemed to be in some sort of trance too, for he didn’t say anything, spreading his long legs slowly, cock fully on display.

 

"Gorgeous," John blurted, before he felt heat rising in his cheeks. Roger looked delighted.

 

"Isn’t he?" Roger agreed. "You should show him your appreciation, yeah?" John nodded. Start slow," Roger added.

 

John did as instructed, beginning to lightly stroke up and down Brian’s cock. There was a certain thrill doing this, with Roger watching on, with Roger talking about them. A faint tremor shook Brian’s legs as John began to stroke faster, and John wasn’t quite sure if it was from his ministrations, from Roger, or both.

 

"That _is_ a really gorgeous cock, Bri," Roger said. "John, I think you should kiss it," he continued in a conversational tone. John leant forward, pressing a dry kiss on a vein, and Brian choked out a moan. "I’m sure Brian would love for you to see some tongue, hm?"

 

It was weirdly comforting, in a way, to just follow Roger’s instructions – not because John didn’t know what to do, but the pressure of the whole situation, to _perform_ , was taken from him that way, and –

 

John liked it.

 

"You’re doing so good, Deaky," Roger praised from his left. "Isn’t he, Brian?"

 

"Yeah," Brian managed to breathe out, his chest heaving as his fingers settled into John’s hair. John’s eyelashes fluttered at the words, and he felt Roger lean closer.

 

"Do you like to be told how good you are being, hm?" Roger wondered, breath ghosting close to John’s cheek. John hummed, pleased, the vibration making Brian buck slightly. "Or –" Roger said silkily. "Do you like to be _used_?" The words punched the air out of his chest, leaving John to whine around Brian’s cock desperately. Roger laughed softly, delighted. "Oh, you _do_ ," he said. From the corner of his eye, John spied Roger looking up at Brian. "Look Bri," he cooed. "Look at your boy, look how _filthy_ he looks with his mouth stuffed on your gorgeous cock, yeah?" Brian moaned at Roger’s words, low and guttural. John couldn’t help his answering moan, squirming on his knees. "Tell him, Bri, tell him how he looks," Roger said.

 

"John, oh God, _oh God_ , you feel so good, I love – love your mouth around it, wish I could always have your mouth around my cock, _God_ –" Brian’s finger’s tugged at his hair, and John felt a spark of pleasure rolling through him, eyes rolling back. It wasn’t until Roger gently snaked an arm around his waist to steady him that John noticed how much he was trembling, knees dully aching from the prolonged kneeling. John felt a rush of affection for Roger, blue eyes momentarily on his, close enough John could’ve counted each of his pretty eyelashes, if he had still felt coherent enough to do so.

 

"Almost there, Bri," Roger encouraged. "Look how much he likes it, how he’s gagging for your cock." Brian nodded mindlessly at his words, fingers threading through John’s soft hair.

 

"You look so pretty John," Brian sighed, hazy eyes looking down on John. "I could – _ahh_ – fuck your face forever –" Roger hummed, leaning closer to John, his lips brushing John’s cheek. The contrast of John’s own naked, flushed skin against Roger’s mostly clothed frame, cool cheek brushing his own was thrilling, making him lean into the fleeting touch.

 

"You’re doing so well, Deaky," Roger praised. "See how you’re making him loose it with just your mouth, your tongue?" Roger’s voice was low and sultry, lips close to his own now, close to _Brian’s cock._ "Brian’s _big_ , and you’re taking him like you were born for only his cock – how he lets you walk around in any clothes at all is beyond me, _look at you_ –" The last words were clearly directed at Brian, and John must’ve really looked a sight, for it had the desired effect.

 

"John, love, so good, so filthy, only for me, love you, _love you_ –" Brian managed to punch out, helplessly thrusting in John’s mouth, before he came, hips stuttering, filling John with hot spurts of his come.

 

John felt so satisfied he could’ve cried.

 

"Do you want a taste or do you want him to swallow?" Roger spoke up, voice wavering just a bit, When John managed to pry his eyes open, Roger’s cheeks were just slightly flushed while looking up at Brian, and John was hit with a wave of almost primal pride; Roger wasn’t quite as unaffected as he pretended. He felt more pleased by it than he probably should.

 

Then Brian was leaning over him, shaking hands framing his face, warm lips on his own. John moaned weakly at the feeling of Brian chasing his own taste in his mouth, feeling lightheaded.

 

"There we go," Roger said softly, brushing John’s sweaty hair out of his face. "How’re we feeling?" Brian leaned back, breaking their kiss, and John whined, chasing his lips.

 

"Good," Brian said. "That was bloody fantastic." He sounded breathless, almost awed, and John wanted to preen. He did that.

 

"Deaks?" Roger asked.

 

"Horny," John said after a beat. Roger snorted, and Brian looked fondly amused.

 

"Well, we can’t have that, can we?" Roger grinned. He stood up, and reached out a hand to John, who took it, getting to his feet on unsteady legs, grateful for Roger’s support. "Alright," Roger said. "Brian how do you want your –" his eyes flickered down, eyes widening. "Ah, _unfairly_ big boyfriend – seriously, holy shit, John." John felt himself flush, but he managed a grin and a wink at Roger.

 

"Err," Brian stuttered. "I don’t know, I –" John huffed. He was perhaps being a tad too impatient, but he was becoming more and more aware of how painfully hard he was.

 

"Patience," Roger told him, before turning to Brian, expression incredibly soft and understanding. "John’s not used to a lover less experienced than himself, and _you_ ," he settled his hand on Brian’s knee. "You’re not used to _any_ lover, except Deaky." John watched as Brian swallowed, looking away. "So you both need to learn things, instead of stewing in silence." The reprimand was gentle, but it was there, making John wince. "So," Roger continued, looking at Brian intently. "What do you want to?" Brian blinked at him, and Roger’s lips twitched just for a second. "What do you want to do to help John get off? Handjob? Do you want to blow John or maybe rim him?"

 

Brian flushed scarlet, making Roger pat his knee in comfort. "I don’t –" Brian began, stopping himself. John thought he looked lost.

 

"It’s alright, Bri," Roger assured, and John took a moment to marvel at how gentle Roger was being with both at them, not teasing them even once. John felt a warm swell of emotion, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed. "If you’re insecure I’ll guide you through it, I promise. I’m here." Brian looked at John, almost shyly, color still high on his cheeks, before he turned to Roger.

 

"I – I’d like to rim him," Brian said softly. Roger grinned proudly, turning to John. John felt a pleasant shiver running down his whole body, making his breath go faster.

 

"Ask John," Roger said. Brian’s eyelashes fluttered, looking at John from half-lidded eyes.

 

"Can – can I rim you, John?"

 

John’s breath stuttered, before he nodded frantically. Roger leant closer to Brian.

 

"Tell him how you want him, Bri," he spoke softly, eyes glinting at John. "Make him _ache_ for you."

 

John shivered.

 

"I – is on the bed okay –?" Brian began, but Roger sidled close to him.

 

" _Tell_ him, Bri," he corrected.

 

"On – on the bed, all fours," Brian breathed, eyes glued on John. John felt wobbly, but he was quick to climb onto their bed, crawling into the desired position.

 

"I think your arse can be a bit higher up, no?" Roger said. John felt himself nod, and arched his back, refusing to feel embarrassed at being – _exposed_ like that. He heard Roger whisper something to Brian, but it was too low for him to catch. Brian cleared his throat.

 

"I want you to – to part your cheeks for me, John."

 

"Face down," Roger added. John felt a whine crawl up his throat, hesitating for a second – it felt – almost too much.

 

"You okay?" He heard Brian ask softly at his hesitation.

 

"Yeah," he replied, voice unsteady. "Just – give me a second."

 

"You’re doing great, Deaks," Roger said gently. "You both are. Take all the time you need." The gentleness in both their voices, their understanding, had him take a shuddering breath, face pressed into the sheets, before he hesitatingly reached behind him, reluctantly gripping his arse and slowly parting his cheeks, face flaming.

 

Brian inhaled sharply, and he thought he heard Roger fumble.

 

"Look at that, Bri," he heard. "That’s all for you – he looks so fucking delicious, just ripe for the taking, yeah?"

 

"John," Brian whispered. "God, you look fucking edible – can I?"

 

"Please," John whimpered. He felt the bed shift, a familiar weight settling close, felt Brian’s warmth behind him. Breath ghosted over his back, and he arched into it. There was another whisper from Roger, and then a large hand covered his own, and then there was a tongue in him –

 

John wailed, jerking up, one hand letting go of his arse to steady himself on the bed. Brian was only momentarily deterred, before he gave a thorough swipe again, tip of his tongue just shy of dipping _in_. John knew the sounds from his mouth were desperate, somewhere between choking and sobbing. His free hand gripped the sheets so tight it almost hurt, when he felt a warm hand covering his.

 

John pried his eyes open, blinking up at Roger. Roger squeezed his hand, and through the haze of _tonge-brian-god-toomuch_ , there was Roger, blue eyes steadying him, grounding him. John hadn’t even noticed him sitting down next to him. Subconsciously, he slowly unclenched his hand, turning up his palm and allowing Roger to link their fingers.

 

"You’re doing so, _so_ good, Deaky," Roger said quietly. "Feels good, yeah?" John nodded shakily, feeling Brian press deeper. "He’s good at that – a natural," Roger said, voice just shy of breathless. John tried to focus just a bit more, but apart from a light flush Roger seemed mostly unaffected, free hand clenching and unclenching on his thigh, close to –

 

 _Ah_. Roger was affected after all.

 

Brian made an incredibly obscene slurping sound, causing John to buck his hips up to his mouth, gasping.

 

"Time to bring it home, Bri," Roger nudged. Brian hummed, _and God, John could feel that_. He sobbed, and Roger squeezed his hand again in comfort. "C’mon Deaky, you’ve been so good, taking it all wonderfully, you can let go." Then Brian snaked his hand up, firmly wrapping around his cock. John could only helplessly squirm at the touch feeling the tell-tale surge of heat gathering in his gut, down his back, and _fuck_ , but he was _so close_ – "Yeah, that’s it, John, c’mon," Roger said, voice low and gravelly and wanton, and when John squinted up at him, he was met with pure _heat._

 

A moan was punched out of him, which quickly transitioned into a high pitched wail, toes curling. Brian was licking mercilessly into his hole, and Roger was murmuring filth into his ear, and between Brian’s hand and mouth and his _fucking tongue_ , and Roger’s dark blue eyes and that _damned_ , magnetic voice, John arched off the bed, eyes wide, his orgasm hitting him so sudden he saw white, only dimly aware of hands on him preventing him to fall off the bed.

 

John came to a few moments later to familiar long fingers carding through his hair. He hummed happily, leaning into the touch.

 

"You know, out of the four of us, I’d have pegged Freddie acting like a kitten," Roger’s voice came from somewhere in the room. Brian’s chest rumbled with a sleepy laugh. John forced his eyes to open, fighting with drowsiness. Roger came into focus slowly, taking a used towel from Brian. "Hey there, Deaks," he grinned mischievously. "Feeling good, are we?"

 

John mumbled out an affirmative, boneless, feeling Brian dragging him even closer.

 

"Let me just take care of that," Roger said, voice hushed, footsteps eventually fading.

 

"I had no idea we needed it this much," Brian sighed into his hair. "I love you so much, John." John felt a traitorous prickle in the corner of his eyes.

 

"Love you too," he slurred out, which made Brian chuckle again.

 

"You should sleep, love," he suggested, and John nodded against his chest, eyes drifting shut. John must’ve dozed off for a few minutes, as he came aware to a mumbled question from Brian; Roger seemed to have taken his sweet time in the bathroom.

 

"Just sorting myself out," he heard Roger dismiss in a hushed whisper; clearly they both thought he was already fast asleep.

 

"Rog, you didn’t have to, we could’ve –" Brian began, vowels slurring in that particular way that indicated he was only awake out of sheer stubbornness. Roger was familiar with it too, after years of too-long nights at the studio, because he just snorted.

 

"Please, you’re barely awake as it is, and your better half is already out. Besides," he added, when Brian inhaled, ready to argue. "That’s not part of this deal." Something about the way Roger said it made John frown, wishing he was more alert, but he was dangerously teasing the edge of sleep as it was. Brian grumbled out a reply, and Roger just laughed quietly in a dismissive way.

 

He felt their duvet being pulled over them, Roger all but tucking them in like as if they were children. The action was unexpectedly tender and sweet. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and John could’ve sworn there was warmth hovering over his face for a drawn out second, but it disappeared so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

 

He eventually lost the fight with sleep to Roger’s shuffling around their bedroom, waiting for warmth that didn’t come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? I can't write smut with a dash of feelings? 
> 
> Yeah, ur right. 
> 
> -
> 
> I will be lying on a beach for the next 2 weeks like a stranded whale, but I will still be updating regularly - I just won't be able to write that much, so we're "catching up" a bit, which could mean that sooner, rather than later, I might have to change my posting schedule.


	7. Communicaton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems Roger's good work is dissolving fast - so he has a talk with Brian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> This time no smut :/ BUT, a step forward, after a few steps back!
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Brian was floating. He felt deliciously drained, limbs heavy and languid, and all thanks to John’s marvellous idea. He hadn’t even noticed how long it’s been since he’d felt fucked out, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d _missed_ it. Brian was going to defer to John from now on in these matters; he clearly had the best ideas. Honestly, he felt like he could fight _God_ , and they hadn’t even _fucked_ yet.

 

"Mornin’," John mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen bleary-eyed. Brian smiled up at him, and despite being a notorious grump before 10AM, John smiled back brilliantly.

 

"Hi," he replied, leaning over for what was supposed to be a quick peck. Brian yielded his mouth to John immediately, and John made a pleased sound of surprise, before licking into Brian’s mouth hungrily.

 

"That’s a ‘Good Morning’ I could get used to," Brian sighs after John nipped at his lip before ending the kiss, leaning over to grab a slice of toast. John’s eyes crinkled in reply.

 

"Yeah, last night was – good," John murmured, gazing at Brian intensely.

 

"I hope we can repeat it real soon," Brian smirked.

 

John raised an eyebrow. "With Roger?"

 

"Well," Brian fumbled a bit. "I mean, I don’t know?" He shrugged. "I think we should be able to get things, ah, going again?"

 

John remained silent for a long minute. "Maybe," he said somewhat reluctantly. "He did help a lot, though."

 

Brian bit his lip. "That he did. I – I kind of feel guilty, though," he added.

 

"What? About yesterday?" John sounded sharp.

 

"No – well, in a way," Brian replied, frowning. "Not the sex part, I’m _very_ grateful and happy about that."

 

"Then what?" John wondered.

 

Brian sighed. "You were already asleep – or just about – he left for the bathroom and, uh –"

 

"Did he wank into a tissue?" John asked, frown matching Brian’s own.

 

"Yeah," Brian said. "It just – feels wrong?"

 

John mulled over the words for a while, sipping his coffee. "Maybe he was fine with that? I mean this isn’t a – romantic thing." Brian knew him enough that he heard the slight doubt in his voice.

 

"No," Brian agreed. "But we didn’t ask, and we should’ve. It feels – dirty, as if –" he trailed off.

 

"It feels like we used him," John sighed.

 

"Yes," Brian replied, shoulders sagging. "And he is our best friend. We should’ve asked him."

 

"I agree," John said. "If we get mindblowing sex out of this arrangement, he should get something out of it too."

 

.

 

"Hullo," Roger muttered as he squeezed past Brian as a greeting, briefly patting his shoulder and giving him a squeeze. He had a styrofoam cup of coffee firmly in the other hand, looking tired.

 

With a start, Brian realized that it must’ve been awfully late when Roger had left their house. John seemed to have come to the same realization, looking vaguely guilty as he took in the drummer’s dishevelled state.

 

"When did you get home, Rog?" John asked, straight to the point as always. Roger blinked at him over his cup, surprised.

 

"Uh, I guess… Two-ish? Why, my eye bags not sexy enough for you?" He grinned at John, whose frown just deepened.

 

"You could’ve stayed," Brian cut in. "In fact, we should probably apologize –" Roger boggled at him.

 

"What _for_?" he wondered, before he narrowed his eyes. "Oh for fuck’s – do you think it’s the first time I had to have a wank? It’s _fine_ ," he snapped.

 

 _Clearly, it was not_. Brian opened his mouth to point that out, but John shook his head subtly at him. Brian frowned at him, but John had that particular expression on his face that meant he was already working on a solution.

 

"Fine," Brian gritted out. "Just, we do have guest rooms, if you don’t want to stay in our bed," he said, calmer. "I don’t want to worry about you, and it’s not like you have someone to go home to."

 

"As you keep reminding me," Roger muttered sourly, and Brian winced. "Yeah, whatever, if there’s a next time, I’ll stay, sure," he said louder, in that petulant voice that meant he was considering bull _shit_. Brian resisted rolling his eyes, but only just.

 

John was looking at him imploringly, face pinched in warning.

 

It was shaping up to be a _great_ day.

 

.

 

"Now you two are _awfully_ cheerful today," Freddie grinned salaciously at John and Brian as soon as he had settled. "Finally made up, have you?" Roger snorted from behind the drumkit. "Well, don’t spare the details, darlings. And by that I mean absolutely _don’t_ tell me, I’d like to keep breakfast down today."

 

"Uh," Brian said intelligently, glancing at John, who looked just as uncomfortable.

 

"That’s none of your beeswax, Fred," Roger said, apparently taking pity on them. "Just be glad they’re getting along for now, so we can finally get some work done."

 

"Oh, don’t pretend you’re much invested in this album, dear," Freddie scoffed, _Brian-and-John_ momentarily forgotten.

 

"At least I don’t arrive in the studio almost two hours late," Roger said pointedly, and Freddie had the grace to look chastised. "Now, can we _please_ get to work?"

 

"Alright," Freddie said, after assessing Roger for a moment. Brian didn’t blame him; between himself and John and Freddie, Roger had been trying to keep things as positive as possible. The foul mood was a bit unexpected after weeks of measured cheerfulness. "I have just the thing," Freddie continued.

 

.

 

"It’s – interesting," Roger said diplomatically. Brian couldn’t suppress a snort, causing John to glare at him.

 

"Be honest, Rog," Brian said. "You hate it." Roger sighed, looking at Brian with an unreadable look.

 

"It’s not exactly my cup of tea, but –"

 

"Well, I don’t want to do it," Brian said. Something dangerous flashed behind John’s eyes, but he only smoothed the music sheet out, not giving anything away. Both Roger and Freddie were eyeing them both, Freddie slinking subconsciously out of the line of fire.

 

"Then don’t," John said, perfectly calm.

 

Brian felt as if he missed a step. "What?"

 

John sighed. "I would like for you to participate on ‘Cool Cat’," he began. "But I’m not going to force you." Brian swallowed.

 

"I just meant, I don’t want to do it as it is," he tried. "If I could just tweak the guitar—"

 

"We’re not changing a single thing about the guitar, dear," Freddie said from a few steps away, sounding both firm and apologetic.

 

"Well, I’m not going to do it like that," Brian said.

 

"That’s alright," John said smoothly.

 

"What, you’re just going to drop the guitar? Again?" Brian snapped.

 

"No," John said, still infuriatingly calm. "I’m perfectly capable to play a guitar."

 

Brian jerked back, rapidly blinking, before he felt his face pinch. "Are you, now?" He bit back. John hummed.

 

"If you can’t play it like it’s written, then I will."

 

"Oh, I can, I just don’t _want_ to, John," Brian hissed.

 

"Bri—" Roger said, getting up. Brian whirled around, waving at Roger.

 

"Next you’re putting up a drum machine –"

 

"Hey, don’t drag me into this," Roger cried.

 

"I thought you had made up?" Freddie wondered, looking to both of them. Roger huffed.

 

"Clearly not, undoing all my good work," he muttered to himself. Freddie heard him, however, and turned slowly to face him.

 

" _What_ hard work?" he asked slowly.

 

"Nevermind –" Roger said hastily.

 

"He’s helping us fucking," John bit, eyes locked with Brian’s. "Because Brian can’t leave his issues with my music _here_."

 

Brian felt a deep burning rise up, both anger and shame. "That’s really rich, coming from you, John," Brian replied lowly. "It’s not me who’s trying to dominate the entire fucking album –"

 

" _ENOUGH!_ " Roger yelled suddenly. Brian stared at him, feeling betrayed. "God you – have you both learned nothing from yesterday?" He sighed, messing up his hair further with running his fingers through it in agitation.

 

"What’s that supposed to –" Brian cut himself off. "Whatever," he said, shooting Roger a dark look. "You know what, John?" he said, feeling calmer all of a sudden. "Do the guitar on your own, in fact, do the entire track on your own because _I’ve had it_ with this fucking – _power mongering_ of yours." John’s jaw dropped, and Brian felt a vicious stab of vindication. He turned on his heel and left.

 

.

 

" _Power-mongering_ –" John cut off, still muttering to himself angrily, as he had for the last ten minutes. Roger resisted to roll his eyes – he didn’t want to face Deaky’s full wrath, especially if he wasn’t responsible for it.

 

"Let’s just focus on the song, okay, darling?" Freddie tried softly. "Roger, would you –"

 

"Are you really going to play all the instruments, Deaks?" He asked John instead. John slowly lifted his head from where he was brooding, expression cautious.

 

"Well, no, but –" John began.

 

"Because if you are," Roger steam-rolled on, "I’d honestly welcome the break." He grinned at John, who seemed thrown. "Also I can’t be arsed with the taped drums and everything," he added, raising an eyebrow. John bit his lip.

 

"Am I really – _power-mongering_ this album?" He asked Roger hesitatingly. Roger smirked.

 

"A bit, yeah," he said. "But this is something both you and Fred really want to do and I’ve made my relative peace with it," he shrugged. "Brian is a bit more stubborn." John snorted at the understatement. "Tell you what, you and Fred get started on this thing and I’ll see if I can’t find our resident storm-out, yeah?"

 

"Thank you, Rog," John said quietly, voice thick. Roger felt his smirk soften into a smile.

 

"Told you I was gonna help you guys out, didn’t I," he winked. John tried to force his smile down, he could tell. "Have fun!" he said, grabbing his jacket on his way out.

 

.

 

"Are you actually drunk or are you staring into the shotglass for aesthetic reasons?" A cheerful voice came from next to him. Brian didn’t bother to turn around, not in the mood for Roger’s attempts to keep the peace.

 

"Fuck off," Brian muttered. Of course Roger did the exact opposite of that and plopped down at the bar next to him.

 

"You know, at this rate we’ll get a real bad reputation, drinking before noon," Roger informed him, annoyingly chipper, as he waved at the barkeeper for a beer.

 

"Yes, because we’ve been real paragons of virtue so far," Brian snorted. Roger grinned at him.

 

"So," Roger said. "We should talk –"

 

"No, we really shouldn’t," Brian interrupted. Roger kicked him.

 

"Oh, not you and _me_ ," Roger corrected. "You and Deaky – no shut up," he said when Brian opened his mouth. "You both have a talent to really screw things up with a few sentences which is impressive, but very contra-productive for what we’re trying to achieve."

 

"And what _are_ we trying to achieve?" Brian asked bitingly.

 

"Finishing an album without killing each other, as per usual," Roger counted off. "Trying to save your relationship," Brian felt a pang in his chest. "And helping you two fucks _communicate_ ," Roger emphasized. "Which I cannot do if you’re not willing, Bri."

 

"But John –"

 

"Oh shut up," Roger snapped. "John danced to our tune for a good ten years, he _deserves_ this," Roger intoned. "Fuck, I hate almost all of this album, but this isn’t about me, it’s about _Queen_ , and Queen has _four_ members, with equal say." Roger stared Brian down, until Brian looked away. "For the sake of _all_ our sanity, get with the program, Bri."

 

Brian remained quiet for a long time, absorbing the words. Roger, used to this, nursed his beer, occasionally exchanging a few quiet words with the barkeeper.

 

"It – it’s just changing so fast," Brian changed eventually. "I know you’re right, but, all is changing at once, and last year we were fine –"

 

"Last year," Roger said, "You were both high on your new relationship and constantly fucking on tour. Of course it’s different _now_."

 

Brian swallowed thickly. "It’s not that easy, Rog." Roger rolled his eyes.

 

"Well, yeah, how can it? You both aren’t easy, either. Honestly," he trailed off in a mutter. "It seems to me we need to work not only on your communication skills but apparently, compromise as well."

 

Brian felt his hackles rise. "I am perfectly capable to compromise –"

 

"Oh, please," Roger shot back. "Brian, you’re my friend and I love you, but you’re stubborn as a mule and you can be surprisingly resistant to change if you don’t like it."

 

"I am not," Brian snapped, but felt a flush rise on his cheeks.

 

"The fact that you had to force a guitar solo on ‘Back Chat’, when it’s about you wanting to have everything your way speaks for itself," Roger said, voice drier than sand. Brian looked away.

 

"Now, finish that sad, lonely shotglass of yours and go home, Bri." Brian looked up, blinking.

 

"Aren’t you coming with?"

 

Roger shot him an unreadable look. "I think you two should make nice on your own, today," he said. "I can drop by the day after tomorrow. Got a date tomorrow," he added, answering Brian’s unvoiced question.

 

"Oh," Brian said slowly. "Is she nice?"

 

Roger snorted. "I’m not looking for nice, right now." Brian winced in sympathy. Dom had been nice, and that hadn’t ended well either – not that Roger had ever told them _why_ exactly. "Good luck with John," Roger said, getting up to leave, briefly squeezing his arm as he passed him.

 

Brian watched him go, unable to name what he was feeling, emotions and tensions still warring in him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my last day on the beach :( but I got a nice tan now ;) 
> 
> I'm very proud of this one because to me, Brian in particular isn't easy to write. I got no problem with John and Roger (lmao maybe because I'm a Leo too?)


	8. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up again - but John and Brian are not quite happy, and for once, it's not because of either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* now, TUESDAY, you say? YUP - I can't share my birthday with you people physically, but lets have a nice *ahem* fest instead ;). 
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Roger knew they hadn’t _really_ made up, if the stilted niceties were anything to go by, making him want to stab himself with a fork. _Of course_ he got stuck with the pair of friends who were the textbook definition of stubborn. Roger briefly wished it was Freddie and Jim, because Freddie was, despite appearances, the least bull-headed and least difficult one out of the four of them, and Jim was just a plain sweetheart. Roger thought that was probably the reason why Freddie didn’t have need of Roger’s services. It also helped that he and Jim didn’t work together.

 

Good thing that Roger had a good grip of what the problem was, and how to go about it. He smirked to himself, twirling a drumstick, thinking about what he had planned for the night, when he caught Freddie watching him. Roger’s smirk quickly died off his face. That was a conversation he did not look forward to having, thanks to his slip the other day.

 

As if on cue, Freddie spoke up. "I heard Crystal’s coming back next week," he told Roger conversationally. Roger froze momentarily before forced to relax himself. He didn’t buy Freddie’s nonchalant act for a second and glared over to Ratty, who ducked his head over John’s bass, pretending not to listen, the little gossip.

 

"About time, the lazy sod," Roger said in a genial tone. "My kit needs a good overhaul anyways." Freddie looked at him for a moment longer, before sighing long-sufferingly and turning away. Roger was just glad the other two were too busy being stiffly polite towards each other to notice anything. Roger could handle Freddie’s disapproving stares and backhand comments, as long as the other two remained thankfully oblivious.

 

.

 

"So good, Brian," Roger encouraged. Brian was currently taking John as deep in his mouth as he could, and fuck, Roger had to remind himself not to grind on his hand from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the pleasant buzz from the scotch earlier lowering his inhibitions to a degree, making it more difficult not to give in.

 

John whined in agreement, hands fisted in Brian’s curls, tugs getting more insistent. Roger brought up a hand to Brian’s neck, squeezing gently, pulling him back slightly. John made a sound between a growl and a mewl at the disappearing heat around his cock – not that Roger blamed him the least.

 

"There we go, Bri," Roger spoke, letting Brian catch his breath, spit and pre-come running down his chin, eyes watery. "That was so hot, wasn’t it John?" John nodded furiously, chest heaving. "I think you deserve a reward, hm? C’mon, up you go," Roger said, pulling Brian up, who looked at him gratefully, squeezing his hand. Brian climbed between John’s legs, furiously kissing the other man, hands already drifting downwards.

 

"Ah, ah," Roger said. Both broke the kiss, and blinked up at him. Roger just barely suppressed a wicked grin. "Switch positions."

 

Both hesitated, though Roger saw something eager on John’s face for a moment. "But – won’t it be easier for me to prep John like this?" Brian asked slowly. Roger was careful not to let his glee show.

 

"Who said you were going to top, Bri?"

 

You could have heard a pin drop.

 

"Hang on –" Brian fumbled, face scarlet. John was looking at him with wide eyes.

 

"When’s the last time you topped, Deaky?"

 

"We don’t usually –"

 

"I’m asking _John_ , Brian," he said pointedly, before he turned to look at John. John had propped himself up on his elbows, staring at Roger, expression guarded. Roger bit his lip, feeling suddenly unsure. "You _do_ want to top, Deaks?"

 

"I –" John licked his lips, eyes wandering to Brian, before he looked away. Roger suppressed a sigh.

 

"John," he said gently. "I’m here because you two don’t communicate." He set a hand on John’s knee, waiting until John was looking at him. "Do you want to top?" He repeated.

 

John swallowed. "Yeah," he breathed. Brian shifted next to him.

 

"John, why didn’t you say anything?" Roger knew Brian was just genuinely baffled, but the question came out accusatory, and John clenched his jaw.

 

"Okay, new rule," he said hastily. "No arguing during foreplay, okay?"

 

Brian caught on, thankfully. "I didn’t mean it like that, John," he said softly. "I just wish you had told me –"

 

"I tried to – hint," John mumbled. "It’s not that I want to constantly, or anything, but –"

 

"Very good," Roger praised. "Gold star for the communication, you two." John shot him a withering look and Brian leaned over to pinch a nipple none too gently through his shirt. "Yeesh, guys, okay," he muttered, wiggling away from Brian’s bony fingers. "So, Bri," he said, after batting his hands away. "Ready for your reward?"

 

.

 

"Good, John," Roger whispered, watching as two of John’s fingers disappeared into Brian, transfixed. "Go a bit slower – yeah like that."

 

Brian was on all fours, back arched, jerking back on John’s _very_ talented fingers, as much as John’s firm hand on his hip allowed, in any case. Roger nudged John’s hip, who looked up at him in askance, not breaking the rhythm his fingers stroked out inside Brian.

 

Fuck, how John didn’t top before was beyond Roger.

 

He waggled his eyebrows, jerking his head towards Brian, before he licked slowly over his lips, eyes hooded. John understood, a tiny smirk mirroring Roger’s bigger one, and without so much as a warning he leant forward, licking a long stripe from Brian’s balls, between his own fingers and into Brian.

 

Brian jerked so violently Roger was afraid he was going to fall off the bed for a second. He reached out to smooth a comforting hand over Brian’s sweaty back, trying to soothe him. Brian shuddered, arching into his touch, and Roger was quick to withdraw. _Jesus_ , but Brian was so fucking responsive.

 

"How’s he feeling, Deaky?" John raised his head, making Brian whimper at the loss of his tongue.

 

"Fuck, Roger, you don’t even know – so good, so wet for me, it’s like he’s sucking me right in." John’s voice was gravelly, dark, and Brian shuddered around his fingers, and Roger had to work very hard to bite back the curse words at the sight of it.

 

"I think he’s ready for a third one, now," he said instead, reaching for the lube and handing it to John.

 

"Yeah," John croaked, before he cleared his throat. "Rog, can you -?" Roger blinked, but then he realized Brian was shaking hard enough that John wasn’t just holding him in place, he was holding him _up_.

 

"Uh, sure," Roger said, fumbling with the lube before pulling the cap off. "Hold your hand – like this –" he cupped John’s hand, fingers still buried in Brian, and turned it carefully so he could pour a generous amount on his fingers without spilling too much on the sheets. The motion, careful and miniscule, was enough to make Brian toss his head, a long, drawn out moan leaving his lips.

 

"You good, Bri?" John asked, party concerned but mostly aroused. Brian nodded frantically.

 

"God –" Brian breathed. "So good, love your fingers, want more, want your _cock_ –" he cut off with a high-pitched keen, because the words were all that John needed, sinking a third finger into Brian.

 

"You’re spoiling him a bit, Deaks," Roger said, not quite reprimanding, focussing on not rubbing his cock through his jeans. He leaned over, hooking his chin over John’s shoulder. "Go slower. Make him _ache_ for it," he breathed into his ear, and John briefly closed his eyes and leant his head back. Roger looked down, and almost swooned.

 

John’s fingers had slowed down, now twisting inside Brian torturously, _deliciously_ slow, apparently brushing over Brian’s prostate with every other twist, if his moans were anything to go by, getting more desperate with each passing second.

 

"John –" Brian wailed, squirming. "Please – I – I need," he cut off, face buried into a pillow.

 

"What do you need, honey?" John asked, voice soft, but the heat beneath it was unmistakable.

 

"John, Deaky, _please_ ," Brian babbled. Roger shifted away from John, setting his hand on Brian’s calf.

 

" _Tell_ us what you want, Brimi," Roger hedged. "You need to use your words – _communicate_."

 

"God, you fucking tease –" Brian half-whimpered, half-growled, frustration painting his voice. "Fine, I want John to fucking get _on_ with it, fingers, tongue, _cock_ , I don’t care, just stop _teasing_." Despite the bratty tone of the words, Brian sounded near tears, fraying at the edges.

 

"So eager," Roger praised, rubbing Brian’s calf. "So eager for John’s cock, hm, Bri?" Brian only whimpered in reply. The words had John shift, slowly pulling his fingers free, and Roger wasn’t going to lie, but the sight of Brian’s stretched hole, wet and slick with lube, clenching around the sudden emptiness, had Roger going from pleasantly horny to painfully hard in a matter of seconds. He watched as John rolls on a condom, stroking himself with a generous amount of lube, and Roger’s eyes fluttered; fuck, John was _huge_.

 

Roger shuffled up to John’s side again, reaching up to squeeze his waist. John smiled at him, a beautiful, breathless little thing. Roger was pleased that whatever nerves he had had disappeared from his eyes, pulling Brian up with steady hands. The head of his cock brushed against Brian’s hole, teasingly. Brian huffed, hips jerking back until the head of John’s cock slid in. John gasped, other hand coming down on Brian’s hip quickly, almost a slap.

 

"God, you’re so fucking impatient –" John grunted as Brian preened, and Roger filed Brian’s shiver at John’s not-quite slap away to be examined at some future point. He shuffled back, to give John and Brian more room, coming to rest comfortably against the headboard.

 

Then John slid into Brian, slowly and measured, giving him time to get used to the additional stretch, and Roger felt his mouth go dry. He saw Brian’s arms tremble from the effort to keep himself up.

 

"Bri, lean down, love," he said. "It’s easier on your arms, trust me." Not to mention the better angle for John to hit his prostate, but Roger wanted to Brian to discover that for himself. Brian let himself fall forward, face down, and John sort of followed, leaning down to leave a trail of wet kisses up his spine, on his shoulders.

 

"You’re so hot, Bri, taking me so well," Roger heard John mutter. His legs fell open just a bit, as if against his will. "Do you like that? My cock in you, fucking you until you’re seeing stars, the same cock you just sucked like a _good boy_ –"

 

Brian _wailed_ , hitching his hips to meet John’s quickening thrusts. Roger hadn’t even realized he had been rubbing over his bulge, and he forced himself to take his hand away. Just then, John shot him a fleeting look.

 

"Rog," he said quietly, not breaking the pace he’d set, and the relentless snap of John’s hips had Roger splay his legs open further. "I – we don’t mind if you, _ah_ –" he sighed, throwing his head back, and Roger watched, fascinated, as Brian seemed to purposefully clench around John. "- if you want to – want to touch yourself – it’s okay," John finished between thrusts.

 

For a second, Roger stared at John blankly, who was fully focussed on giving Brian the shag of his life, before the words caught up with his brain. He heard nothing but static, and he contemplated just leaving – John was handling Brian more than competently after all, but then Brian made another high-pitched sound like a drawn out sigh.

 

‘ _Fuck it’_ , he thought, opening his fly hastily, pulling his aching cock free, fisting over the head, gathering the pre-come there. His eyes fell on the other two again, and his breath hitched.

 

John was pounding into Brian mercilessly, in long, hard strokes, and Brian was barely hanging on, Roger could tell by the little noises Brian made, as if punched from his chest.

 

Roger bit his lip, stroking himself faster, subconsciously to the same rhythm as John. "Brian, fuck," he breathed. "You’re taking him so good, your hole just fucking swallowing that beautiful cock, _Jesus_ , such a good boy –" he bit out, echoing John’s words, and Brian keened, a happy sound, deep from his chest. He tore his eyes from Brian’s frame to John, who was staring back.

 

Or rather, John was watching his hand, stroking his cock in a feverish pace. The intense look had Roger squirm, and John looked up, searching his face for a second, before he moaned at the back of his throat, turning his face and burying it into Brian’s nape, being obscured by Brian’s hair.

 

He was fucking even harder into Brian now, and Roger found a moment of sympathy for Brian’s arse. Brian, as if he’d read his thoughts, turned his head slightly, just enough so his hazy eyes caught his own, pupils dilating when he took Roger in. Roger watched, fascinated, as his breath caught, turning his face into his pillow again, a low sound escaping him, the sound going straight to Roger’s balls.

 

Roger saw John shift, then, angling his hips just slightly, and Brian bucked up, eyes wide and unseeing, almost throwing John off him. John’s arm came around to secure Brian against his chest, all but melting into Brian’s back, hips moving more frantically, other hand coming around to take hold of Brian’s cock, and the sight of them, fused into one, _moving_ as one, air heavy with heat, the sound of skin against skin, growing frenzied was _too much_ –

 

Roger groaned into the crook of his arm, toes curling as he came, _hard_ , spurts of white over his jeans and over the silky sheets, leaving him trembling against the headboard.

 

When he pried his eyes open again, it was just in time to see the end of Brian’s own orgasm, whining at the overstimulation from John, who was still fucking into Brian, hard, brushing up against his prostate with each thrust, until he finally lost his rhythm, clinging onto Brian as he came, eyes shut tightly, trembling all over. Brian, completely boneless, just shuddered in John’s arms, expression one of pure bliss.

 

Roger’s cock gave a weak twitch. He almost laughed at his apparent eagerness, but the show was all but over. He tucked his cock inside his pants again, fumbling with the zipper due to his shaking hands. Brian and John slumped, John rolling to the side and tucking Brian against his side, both sighing contently.

 

Those two were disgustingly adorable when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

 

Then John turned, content smile crinkling his eyes, setting his eyes on Roger. "Rog, come here –" he began to say, reaching out to him, when his eyes fell on Roger’s crotch, spent cock tucked away safely, a smear of come still on his hands where he was wiping it with a tissue. "Oh," John frowned. Brian raised his head from John’s shoulder at the tone, eyes finding Roger.

 

"Rog, already –?" Brian said, sounding – miffed? Roger shrugged, unsure where the tone was coming from.

 

"Yeah, sorry, it was – ah – a good show, sorry if I –"

 

"We’re not mad that you got off," John bit. "We’re – we wanted to help you out."

 

"What?" _Oh, not this again_. "There was no need, John, I appreciate the thought, though."

 

"It’s not _fair_ to you!" Brian said, sounding sullen. "It’s the least we could –"

 

" _No_ ," Roger interrupted. "It’s nice of you, but no," he said firmly. "This is about helping you guys out, not about me." He was met with John’s famous stubborn look, jaw set. Roger sighed. "Maybe next time," he said eventually, mostly to get them off his back. He turned around to gather his jacket, not noticing the flash of determination in John’s eyes. "I’m heading out for the night –"

 

"You’re staying," John’s voice called out. Roger blinked, turning to him, arm caught in a sleeve.

 

"I’ve got a perfectly good home of my own, Deaks," Roger replied, checking his jacket for his wallet and keys.

 

John wasn’t deterred, apparently. "You’ve had two glasses of scotch. You’re not driving home."

 

"John, don’t be ridiculous –" he said, turning to John.

 

"I’m not being ridiculous, I’m being a good friend, and I’m not letting you drive home tipsy in the middle of the night."

 

"I’m not even that tipsy anymore –" Roger argued.

 

"Rog," Brian spoke up finally, blinking one eye open. "Come back to bed."

 

Roger bit his lip. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, because, _fuck_ , he was tired, it was just – a bad idea. It was hard resisting – everything, already, but things like this made it even more so, both of them looking warm and inviting. Both of them were staring him down from where they were snuggled up in the bed, looking resolute despite being close to sleep. His shoulders dropped in defeat.

 

"Fine," he muttered, shrugging out of his jacket again. "But if either of you gets handsy during the night, I’ll kick you in the balls."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back home - fuck, but I missed my shitty matress and my tiny hairbabies ♥
> 
> Tell me what you thought!


	9. Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's someone miscommunicating, and for once it's neither John nor Brian. But it's everyone's turn to fuck up and/or let loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES 
> 
> Ï HÅVƏ BŔŒĢŤH YØŮ ŻHĘ §MÜÞ 
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper and your lovely birthday wishes ♥♥♥ I'm happy so many are already on board with this!
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

John woke up with a mouthful of curls, and he opened his eyes blearily, squinting at the sun creeping through the blinds, before he burrowed his face into Brian’s hair again. Brian was apparently still asleep, which was a bit unusual, as Brian was the early-riser, and John the late, grumpy one. A quick peek down confirmed Brian was still dead to the world, face smoothed into a soft expression that made him look younger, and the warn light from the window made his face glow almost ethereally.

 

John was so in love it made his breath catch.

 

He struggled to articulate the amount of relief he felt – because things were taking a turn for the better, slowly, surely. John was so fucking grateful that his frankly insane idea seemed to work.

 

He lifted his eyes from Brian’s face over to the edge of their bed where Roger had curled up the night before, before he scowled.

 

Roger was gone.

 

He breathed carefully through his nose, mindful of Brian, who more than deserved sleep after last night. John tried, and failed, to feel annoyed. _Yes_ , they were walking a fine line of this arrangement, and Brian’s ‘ _rules_ ’ were sensible, but Roger was so desperate to treat this as a chore, refusing to take anything from this for himself, and frankly, it pissed John off.

 

It was also not what he expected. Roger was a creature of pleasures, be it pretty clothes, fancy cars, three goddamn houses or all the pretty people he could find. So for Roger to be so – _anal_ , for lack of a better word – about treating this casual was both bizarre and suspicious.

 

He had seen the heat, the _want_ behind Roger’s eyes last night – why was he holding himself back?

 

.

 

Brian, once he’d woken up, had been just as annoyed, at Roger’s absence as John, almost insulted even. Since his clothes were gone, there was little chance that he was still somewhere in their house, but he had left them a sticky note on the coffee maker ‘ _Gone home for a much needed shower – Brian kicks by the way_ ’ and a lopsided smiley. John had crumpled the note in a bout of pettiness.

 

.

 

They arrived at the studio in time, barely. Not that it mattered – Freddie wasn’t here yet, and probably wouldn’t be for another hour, but the recording studio was in a cheerful flurry, the roadies unusually exuberant, crowding around –

 

Ah, Crystal was back. John nodded to the man over Ratty’s head, and Crystal grinned at him. Crystal brought a sort of manic energy that was fundamental for their roadies, their crew, and in consequence, for Queen; John was glad to have him back. Maybe his presence would bring a bit more balance into recording – especially since Prenter was mostly absent. Jim had insisted they didn’t need him skulking around their house so much, and while Prenter did show up on occasion, still the mouth piece for management, he wasn’t sticking to Freddie as much anymore since Jim clearly hated the guy. That alone was a huge plus in John’s book.

 

He looked past the small gaggle of roadies, eyes landing on Roger, who was watching the proceedings with an amused quirk to his lips from the couch. He looked up when John stomped over to him, Brian in tow, sitting up on the ratty couch, face growing apprehensive.

 

“So,” John said crossing his arms.

 

“Uh –“ Roger said, raising an eyebrow. “Good morning?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” John replied, immediately jumping on the opening. “Because you left before either of us woke up.”

 

“Which wasn’t a very nice feeling,” Brian added. Roger looked from John to Brian slowly, then back to John.

 

“Am I –“ Roger began, licking his lips nervously. “Did I miss something?” John could hear Brian exhale next to him, and felt himself scowling.

 

“We’re not one of your girls, Rog,” Brian said pointedly.

 

Roger looked at them with growing confusion. “Yeah, I know that –“

 

“You just left in the middle of the night like you would some random shag, like we were some meaningless _slut_ for the night,” John said lowly.

 

Roger flinched at the harshness of the words. “I – I didn’t mean –“

 

Brian sighed. “We know. It still wasn’t a nice feeling. It felt humiliating.”

 

Roger looked distressed. “I just didn’t want to – intrude,” he finished lamely.

 

“Listen,” John said. “If you don’t want to share a bed that’s – _fine_.” John didn’t like the idea of Roger sleeping alone in another room, but he understood the need for boundaries. “We have like five guest rooms.” Roger opened his mouth.

 

“And –“ Brian cut in before Roger could argue further. “We still have about half a closet with clothes that were likely yours, at one point.” That was true; when they had all been able to move out their shared flat all those years ago, they had just grabbed what they had lying around in their rooms, bar their favourite articles of clothing.

 

“And you and I use the same bodywash, still,” John said. “If you need a _shower_.”

 

Roger remained quiet for a few moments, sulkily looking up at them – John only now realized how Brian and him must have looked, towering over Roger like parents giving their child a stern talking to.

 

“Alright,” Roger sighed. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you were – _that_ ,” Roger said, looking up at them.

 

“We’re your _friends_ ,” Brian agreed. “Just don’t disappear on us again, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Roger said, getting up and dusting his pants. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking at them, blue eyes wide and sincere.

 

John felt his lips twitch. “Don’t worry, we’re good.” At that, he was met with a bright little smile from Roger, before he squeezed past them, hands briefly on their shoulders.

 

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Now excuse me, I have some ridiculous demands to make of my roadie.”

 

.

 

John had been right – the roadies reunited in their unholy, gossiping glory caused an upswing in their recording progress. It might also have been that there were less outright arguments between him and Brian (and Freddie, to an extent – Roger was still the peacekeeper, for a change), though there was still friction, a lot of it unresolved, simmering right under the surface. Nevertheless, they enjoyed a few days of productivity, when something trivial had set Brian and him off again, Freddie interfering and sending Brian to get them coffee, practically kicking him out of the room. John took a deep breath. Seemed like they needed some – _relief_ – later on.

 

He was just about to go over to Roger to ask him over for the night, sure Brian would have the same train of thought, when he paused.

 

Crystal was hovering over Roger behind the drum riser, which wasn’t unusual, initially – Crystal was often close to Roger, them having a strangely co-dependent friendship in the studio and on tour, getting on like a house on fire.

 

What was unusual though was the pinched look on Crystal’s face as he whispered harshly to Roger, which was met by a stubborn glare from Roger. John suddenly realized that while Crystal was standing close to Roger, they weren’t touching. At all. Purposefully careful not to, even.

 

That was odd – Roger was touchy with all of the roadies, though not as much as he was with the band. Roger consciously _not_ touching Crystal was –

 

 _Off_.

 

Then Crystal noticed John looking, straightening up and saying something to Roger, who scowled, before he waved him away.

 

John came over slowly, looking to where Crystal was now discussing something with Ratty. “Everything alright between you and Crys?” John asked. Roger scowled again, before he forced himself to school his face to a more neutral expression.

 

“Yeah,” Roger shrugged, lighting a cig. “He’s just prissy about ‘ _the state of his life’s work_ ’,” he said, waving at the drums.

 

“Okay,” John said carefully, deciding not to press further for now. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

 

Strangely, Roger’s eyes wandered to Crystal for a second, jaw ticking, before he looked at John with a plastered on smile.

 

“Sure.”

 

.

 

“Okay, easy does it, Bri,” Roger’s melodic voice rang out, and John forced himself to open his eyes again, not remembering when he’d shut them.

 

The sight that greeted him was fucking divine.

 

Brian was straddling his lap, naked and full on display, riding himself slowly on John’s cock, hands braced on John’s chest. Roger was kneeling next to them, one hand on Brian’s thigh, the other slung around Brian’s waist, gently guiding Brian to a steady pace.

 

“It’s always hell on the legs, I know,” Roger said softly. Despite the gentleness of his tone, there was an underlying rawness in his voice, blue eyes hooded, and somehow, despite being fully dressed, he added to the sinful picture that Brian made, slowly fucking himself on his cock. “Okay, Bri?” Roger asked, when a deep thrust had Brian throw his head back, low moan escaping him.

 

Brian nodded mutely, mouth working. John let go of the pillow which he was gripping tightly, reaching out to touch Brian, to comfort him. Roger batted his hands away with a stern look.

 

“Brian told you not to touch,” Roger reminded him. “You’re not in charge tonight.” John whined, dissatisfied, hands falling back to their original place, gripping the pillows tightly in frustration.

 

“Fuck,” John groaned. He saw Roger smirking at him mischievously.

 

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” he winked at John. If Brian wasn’t perched on top of him and making his toes curl each time he clenched around John’s cock, John would’ve kicked him. Roger turned to Brian. “See, Bri? See how good it feels, being in charge like this – you don’t have to top to _dominate_ ,” Roger’s voice was rough as he breathed those words into Brian’s ear, just loud enough so John could hear him. “He’s at your mercy – bet you could even tie him up, and what a pretty picture that would make –“ Brian gasped, eyes wide, eyes finding John’s.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Brian moaned, tossing his head back, curls flying.

 

“Like that, do you?” Roger’s voice was low, and so, _so_ tempting. John bit the inside of his cheek, his entire body taut. “John seems to like the idea too,” Roger continued, tone almost casual.

 

“John –“ Brian choked, hands flexing where they rested on his chest. John could feel Brian’s thighs trembling from the continued strain of keeping the pace. Roger seemed to notice too, as he shifted the hand still resting on Brian’s thigh to grip the back of his knee, helping him keep the pace. “John, _please_ ,” Brian moaned. “I’m so close, I – I want –“

 

“ _Brian_ ,” John whimpered.

 

“Tell us what you want, love,” Roger said, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on Brian’s hip. John wasn’t sure if it was the endearment that slipped from Roger’s lips, or if it was because Roger said ‘ _us_ ’, but something made heat pool low in his gut, gasping for breath.

 

“John, please, want to – want to feel you inside me, feel you _come_ –“ John gasped again, biting his lip.

 

Roger hummed. “So desperate for John, Bri, so desperate for him to fill you up, hm?” Brian’s entire body shook, and Roger smoothed a comforting hand down his back. Brian arched into the touch, and unlike the other night, Roger didn’t remove his hand. Through the haze of his impending orgasm, John felt a swell of triumph.

 

“John,” Brian breathed, looking down at him, their eyes locking. John found himself mesmerized by him, watching him roll his hips, entire body moving with it as if in trance.

 

Brian leant down, prying his mouth open, hot tongue languidly licking into John’s mouth. John felt his hands twitch from where they were still gripping the pillows, desperate to touch. Brian seemed to sense this, and reached up, grabbing hold of his wrists, effectively pinning him down. John whined into their kiss, frustrated and so fucking close, when a cool hand suddenly trailed up his side.

 

“Deaky,” Roger said, sounding out of breath. John turned his head to look up at him between Brian’s bouncing curls. “C’mon, come for us,” he coaxed, voice like silk. John felt the tell-tale tingle racing down his spine, over his whole body as he looked into Roger blue eyes, dark with lust.

 

Then he saw Roger lean closer, felt a whisper of blonde hair on his skin briefly, before cool fingers brushed his nipple, flicking it – _hard_. At the same time, Brian clenched purposefully around him, chuckling breathlessly into their kiss.

 

John wailed, jerking up into Brian as he came, orgasm ripped from him. He barely registered Brian’s satisfied hum, letting go of John’s wrists, trailing long fingers up his arms before they came to rest on his chest, heaving himself up again.

 

Brian was now less fucking and more grinding down on his cock, leaning his head back, eyes fluttering shut in delight.

 

“Rog,” Brian spoke suddenly, breathless, looking over at him. Roger leant closer, rubbing a hand on the small of Brian’s back.

 

“What is it, Bri?” Roger asked . “What do you need? Need John to touch you –“

 

“No – _Rog_ ,” Brian begged, and Roger seemed to understand then, eyes widening.

 

There was a split-second of hesitance, but then Brian whined wantonly, and finally, Roger reached down, grabbing a firm hold of Brian’s cock, who jolted at the touch, a long hiss escaping him. John watched as Roger pumped, once, twice, and Brian ground down on John’s spent cock still inside of him. Then Roger flicked an expert hand over the head of Brian’s weeping cock, and Brian froze, before he stuttered his hips, fucking into Roger’s hand as white spurts coated the three of them. John mewled at the clench around his oversensitive cock, shuddering as he felt Brian come.

 

After Brian had ridden out the last aftershocks, he slumped down, mess of sweaty curls resting on John’s chest, as they both shifted until John could pull out. Some come leaked out of Brian, dribbling onto John’s thigh, and Brian gave a happy sigh, leaning up to press a lingering kiss on John’s lips.

 

“Can I touch you now?” John asked, grinning up at Brian cheekily. Brian chuckled, pinching his side.

 

“I don’t know if you were being good enough yet,” Brian sniped back playfully. “But I could be persuaded.”

 

“Yeah?” John prompted. “Well, how –“

 

“Not to interrupt this mating ritual of yours –“ Roger cut in, returning from the bathroom. John hadn’t even noticed he’s left, but a quick glance to Roger’s crotch confirmed that he hadn’t had time to ‘take care’ of anything yet. “– But I think you two should get cleaned up a little first,” Roger continued, handing over a towel to John, before he kneeled on the edge of the bed, gingerly turning Brian towards him. “You feeling good, Bri?”

 

“Yeah,” Brian croaked out. “Fantastic, actually. Thank you,” he said earnestly. Roger just made a dismissive sound, carefully manoeuvring Brian into a more comfortable position, tucked against John, while he methodically cleaned Brian up. Brian set his head on John’s shoulder, and John took it as permission to touch Brian, fingers sinking into soft curls, watching Roger.

 

Done with Brian, Roger was about to snag John’s towel, when John sat up, eliciting a small grumble of displeasure from Brian. Roger blinked when John grabbed both towels, chucking them into a corner, before turning his gaze on Roger.

 

“Deaky, what –“ Roger began, but cut off when John took a hold of his wrist.

 

“It’s your turn,” Brian said, sitting up. Roger’s face went through a cycle of emotions in a matter of seconds, before he went blank.

 

John was beginning to hate that expression.

 

“Bri –“ Roger sighed, trying to tug his hand free. John was careful not to squeeze too hard as to not to hurt Roger, but he didn’t let go.

 

“No, listen,” John said firmly. “This isn’t – we don’t want to use you like this.”

 

Roger’s jaw dropped. “Deaky, you’re _not_ –“

 

“But it feels that way!” Brian exclaimed. “Roger, you’re our friend and we just want to give back _something_ , at least a blowjob or a fucking handjob –“

 

Roger squirmed under Brian’s imploring eyes, eyes darting between them, shaking his head. “Brian, c’mon –“ he said, but there was something else in his face, a kind of desperation that had nothing to do with not wanting to be here.

 

John moved, leaning over and settling a broad hand on Roger’s chest, other still holding his wrist. Roger stared at him, words running dry.

 

“Roger,” John intoned, face serious. “If you really don’t want this, we can stop – all of it even. Neither of us will ever bring it up again. But –“ Roger was looking at him with rapt attention, mouth hanging slightly open. John deliberately trailed his gaze down to Roger’s charming little mouth, licking his lips, before he looked up again. “I do think you _want_. Very, very much, even.” His hand trailed down just a little bit, and Roger trembled, arching into the touch. John smirked. “Am I wrong?”

 

“I– I–“ Roger stammered, eyes fluttering. That was when Brian moved as well, grabbing Roger’s calf and trailing his hand slowly upwards, eliciting a soft whine from Roger.

 

“Answer us, Rog,” Brian said, very close to a command. It sent a pleasant tingle down John’s back. Apparently, Roger liked the tone as well, if the twitch of his cock was any indication.

 

“What do you _want_?” John prodded, refusing to relent on this unless Roger told them to fuck off.

 

Roger squirmed, eyes squinting at them.

 

“Roger,” Brian beckoned, hand trailing up just a little further.

 

Roger whimpered. “Touch – _touch_ me. Brian, John, _please_ –“ John hummed, pleased.

 

Brian didn’t seem to be satisfied by that. “Tell us Rog. _How_ do you want us to touch you?”

 

This time, Roger half-growled, half-sobbed, reaching for John.

 

It was all that John needed.

 

He pushed Roger backwards, down, until Roger was lying on his back, John hovering over him as he grasped at John’s naked shoulder.

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” John informed him. “Off,” he said, tugging at his shirt. Roger was eager to comply, all signs of hesitance gone. John was glad to see it – he would ask Roger why he had tried to deny himself in the first place later, soon, but now was not the time, not when he was met with creamy skin dusted with golden hair.

 

Brian made an appreciative noise next to John, and John internally echoed the sentiment. Roger was gorgeous, always had been, and it wasn’t as if he’d never seen Roger naked – having lived in close quarters for years, he was familiar with all of his bandmates.

 

But being allowed to unravel Roger, in a complete new way, was thrilling.

 

Brian and him made quick work of his clothes, and when Brian tugged down his jeans, pants included, a delighted noise escaped John.

 

Christ, Roger was pretty, yeah, but the man even had a pretty _cock_. Roger made an impatient sound, squirming under John’s hand.

 

“Is anyone going to give me a blowjob or –“ he cut off with a drawn-out whine, incoherent as Brian idly rolled his balls in his hand. John reached down to grab his hip, lips now mere inches from Roger’s.

 

“No blowjob for you,” John decided. At that, Roger glared up at him, the beginning of a pout forming. “I have something else in mind for you,” John continued, other hand coming to rest on Roger’s hip too. He didn’t give him the chance to protest, however, as he tightened his grip on his hips, flipping him around. Roger, clearly not expecting it, made a sound close to a squeak.

 

“John, what –“ Roger began, cutting off with a sharp inhale. John trailed his fingers down the small of Roger’s back, before travelling down further, gently caressing Roger’s lovely arse.

 

“Brian, do you want –?” John began, but Brian quickly shook his head, moving away to crawl to the head of the bed. John smirked. Figures; Brian wanted to watch. He slowly parted Roger’s cheeks, thumb circling over his hole. Roger gave a full body shudder, relaxing under John’s thumb. John felt a swell of warmth in his chest, and leant down to mouth a kiss between his cheeks.

 

Roger jerked, a dry sob escaping him. John hummed, tongue experimentally liking a broad stripe from his balls upwards. Roger whimpered, jerking again.

 

“Are you always this responsive?” Brian wondered quietly, smoothing a hand over Roger’s hair. John couldn’t see Roger’s expression, but he saw Brian’s awed one.

 

“’S been a while since – _ah_! – since I’ve done _this_ ,” Roger mumbled out between gasps. John blinked, and looked up to Brian, who looked equally bewildered.

 

“But, you go on dates every other week?” Brian asked.

 

Roger groaned, wiggling his legs impatiently. “Can we not talk about that while John has his tongue up my arse, _please_?” The sarcasm would’ve been more effective if Roger’s voice hadn’t been all breathy and high-pitched.

 

“Relax,” John muttered against Roger’s hole, hands squeezing Roger’s cheeks more firmly. Roger stilled, and John took that as his cue to continue, meticulously licking into Roger, eliciting the most delicious sounds from the man. With Brian watching, John put on a little show, making little slurping sounds and letting his drool roll down his chin. A side glance to Brian confirmed that Brian was more than enjoying the show, darkened eyes watching him hungrily.

 

Roger himself was quickly reduced to a whimpering mess, whole body trembling with each lick, pressing back into John insistently. John was impressed by the string of creative curses falling from Roger’s mouth, alternating with mewled pleas.

 

“John,” Brian spoke up. John hummed in query, casting a glance at Brian, and Roger whimpered at the vibration. “Fingers,” Brian said, looking at him expectantly. John raised an eyebrow, before he dislodged his mouth from Roger, which was met with a small, needy grunt. He offered Brian his hand, and Brian’s eyes glinted as he leaned forward, licking over the fingers before sucking them in.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ” Roger moaned.

 

John agreed to the sentiment. At this rate, he would be ready for another round despite being tired as hell, if Brian would keep sucking on his fingers like that for much longer, looking at him through his eyelashes.

 

“Fuck, Brimi, you’re so fucking obscene,” Roger breathed, watching completely transfixed. John shared a look with Brian, before Brian pulled off his fingers with a wet sound. John was quick to return to his earlier position, rubbing the now wet digits over Roger’s hole.

 

“Okay, Roger?” John couldn’t help but ask. Technically, this was more than just helping getting him off, but –

 

“John,” Roger growled. “If those fingers aren’t inside of me _pronto_ , I’m doing it mysel–“ John interrupted him by pushing one finger in, just slightly. “Oh, _God_ ,” Roger sobbed. John leaned down, mouth joining his finger, licking around it into Roger again, finger slowly pressing deeper.

 

Roger choked on another moan.

 

John understood now why people were almost obsessively chasing after Roger – if Roger was like this every time, this eager, this pliant, this lovely, then no fucking wonder.

 

“I think he can take you deeper,” Brian said, voice measured. Roger nodded eagerly, and who was John to deny them? He slid deeper, deeming it safe to add another finger, which Roger welcomed with an appreciative moan. John twisted them, curling, searching, when Roger suddenly shot up the bed, hands scrambling to find better purchase on the sheets.

 

“J – John,” he cried. “Please, I –“

 

“There we are,” John muttered against Roger’s arse, fingertips brushing against that spot again, tongue lapping between his fingers.

 

“See how good you feel now?” Brian asked, reaching over to brush sweaty hair out of Roger’s face. “I think you could come just like this even, with John’s pretty mouth on your arse, those fingers inside, broad and long – I know, I’ve had them inside of me, too.”

 

 _Fuck_.

 

John panted heavily into Roger’s skin, closing his eyes for a moment to catch himself. Roger was shaking now, tossing his head back and forth. Brian was apparently full of surprises – he’d never heard him talk like that before.

 

“God, you’re close already, aren’t you?” Brian continued, gentle tone a stark contrast to the rising heat in their bedroom. Roger whimpered what was probably meant to be in assent. “You’d probably beg for it if we made you, I bet you wouldn’t even need to have your cock worked, John’s fingers and tongue –“ John didn’t hear the rest, because just as Brian talked, he’d curled his fingers again, and Roger came, whimpering into their sheets and quaking around John’s finger’s, John being able to feel every little clench, tight heat drawing in his fingers even further.

 

John sighed into one of Roger’s arse cheeks, slowing down his movements, eventually pulling his fingers out of Roger with a squelch, Roger mewling at the loss, still shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He had already been all but lying flat on the bed, and he just slid down further, sprawling on their bed with a content sigh, face down, breathing slowing down. Brian chuckled quietly, before he went to retrieve the towel.

 

They made quick work of cleaning Roger up, and John was glad Roger seemed to be too tired to think for now, too tired for any sort of anxiousness. By the time they were done, Roger was already fast asleep, right in the middle of their bed.

 

Brian huffed in amusement, sliding in next to him, pushing him to the right. Roger just snored softly in reply.

 

John slid in beside Brian after tossing the towels in the direction of the hamper. Brian had slung an arm over Roger, reminiscent of their early days, where it hadn’t been unusual for any of them falling asleep right on top of each other, space non-existent between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, that was something, eh? About time Rog got some, I think!


	10. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up, and Brian is enjoying himself more than he should, kneeling on some dirty bathroom floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES 
> 
> Ï HÅVƏ MÖŘĘ §MÜÞ 
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ You guys make me live (now, honey~)
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Brian woke up to the sound of rainfall against the window, and a warm body curled up to him. As he gradually became more aware, he was aware of another body, not touching, but close enough that Brian could feel the warmth from the other person. He lifted his head from the crook of John’s neck to look at Roger.

 

"Hey," Brian yawned.

 

"’Mornin’," Roger mumbled. Brian turned to look at him more properly. Roger was smoking, white sheets pooling around his waist, blond hair standing up in odd tufts. Despite the grey tint from outside that cast the room in shadows, Roger looked striking, wearing the fucked-out look like he would a fur-coat; exquisite.

 

The image was marred somewhat by the small, thoughtful frown between his eyebrows.

 

"Did you sleep well?" Brian asked, deciding a direct approach might not be best, as he didn’t know where the expression stemmed from – maybe it was nothing even, and Roger just had a headache.

 

Roger nodded slowly, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Yeah. Bed ‘s comfy," he added. Brian hummed.

 

"It is." He hesitated for a moment. "What are you thinking about?" Roger remained quiet. "Rog," Brian probed.

 

"It’s just – last night," Roger sighed.

 

Brian raised an eyebrow. "What about last night?" Roger sighed again, but this time more aggravated.

 

"Were you really okay with it?" Roger wondered. Brian blinked at him, not comprehending. "Because – I don’t want you to get me off out of – pity, or something."

 

Brian reached out to pinch Roger’s soft belly. Roger tried not to shriek, as to not wake up John, swatting at Brian’s hand.

 

"Don’t be a dumb blond," Brian told him. "We _wanted_ to get you off – we _told_ you so, explicitly. It wasn’t _pity_." He let the words sink in, but Roger’s frown only deepened. "Did you not enjoy it?" Brian asked.

 

Roger snorted. "Of course I did," he said immediately, before he deflated. "God knows I needed that."

 

"Then what’s the matter?" Brian asked.

 

"Well, don’t you think this is all getting a bit – too much? We said it was about helping you guys out, nothing more, and then Deaky goes to fucking lick me into next Sunday?" Roger began to sound annoyed. "You said you didn’t want to use me – but it feels like _I’m_ the one taking advantage."

 

"Roger, can you stop being a drama-queen for a second?" John suddenly piped up, clearly awake, and annoyed about it, by the sound of it. He glared up at Roger.

 

"I’m not –"

 

"Yeah, you are," John said, sitting up. "Listen, Rog. I know all of this is weird, but – you’re actually, really helping us – it’s _working_ ," John emphasized. "Me and Brian are better than we have in weeks. So, you’re getting something out of it as well, so fucking what?"

 

"Besides," Brian tacked on. "You said yourself it had been a while – and this is between us is, once you cut down to the base of it, _easy_." Roger muttered something Brian didn’t hear.

 

"I just don’t want – things to change," Roger admitted. "And we’re walking on unprecedented ground here."

 

"It won’t," Brian said, absolutely sure. How could it – before all else, they were friends. Nothing would change.

 

"Fine," Roger said long-sufferingly. "But if any of you fall in love with me, I’m outta here."

 

John snorted. "Fat chance."

 

"You’re not _that_ great," Brian said, exaggeratedly haughty, grinning at Roger.

 

"Oi," Roger said, but he was grinning too.

 

.

 

A few days later they were back in the studio, and admittedly, Brian wasn’t having too good of a time right now. He was very aware he was pulling A Face, as Roger had dubbed it, but Brian felt he was entitled to it. For one, John and Freddie had just presented the finished version of ‘Cool Cat’ – and Brian was trying to be supportive, or at least neutral. John had shot him a look, but not a furious one, so Brian was counting it as a win.

 

What had his face souring even further, though, was the presence of Prenter. Brian supposed he should be glad Prenter had become less of a fixed point in Freddie’s, and subsequently, their lives since Jim had appeared in Freddie’s life, but sadly, he still worked for their management, which meant he was still regularly ‘checking up’ on them.

 

Brian was glad that ‘checking up’ on their progress meant mostly sticking to Freddie’s side like an especially stubborn leech and leaving the rest of them alone, but his presence still left the air tasting rancid. The roadies had retreated to the corner, talking quietly amongst themselves, and Brian didn’t blame them; Prenter treated them like dirt, and unfortunately had the authority to do so, as long as Freddie didn’t see it, and Prenter was always mindful that he didn’t.

 

"Well, I think this is a wrap – last for this lovely December day," Freddie said suddenly, startling them. John and Roger stopped whispering – Brian hadn’t been listening, but the glances full of contempt at Prenter gave him a pretty good idea what about. "How does drinks sound – I’ll even cover first round of shots," Freddie continued.

 

"Will _that_ be coming with us?" Roger spoke up, pointing at Prenter with open disgust. Prenter’s eyes narrowed.

 

"Don’t act like a little bitch, Roger," Freddie said cheerfully. "Are you coming or not?"

 

"Sure," Roger muttered, and Brian watched in amusement as he exchanged another look of disdain with John, who reciprocated the look.

 

"Fantastic! Let me just call Jim and we’ll be off – you guys too," he said, pointing at their roadies, before he scurried off to find a phone. Paul had a pinched look at the mention of Jim, but smoothed it out by the time Freddie turned to him, the little cockroach.

 

"Five quid on Jim making Paul piss off within the hour," he heard Roger stage whisper to John. Crystal, Ratty and the rest tittered in their corner.

 

"Raise you to ten, and I bet Prenter will make a scene, too," John replied, not bothering to lower his voice as he put his bass away. Roger cackled.

 

"That is, if they even let him in – after all, dirty mutts have to stay chained outside, yeah?"

 

Brian choked on air, before beginning to snicker gleefully, the roadies not far behind. John was laughing helplessly into Roger’s shoulder, gasping for breath.

 

Brian dared to chance a look to Prenter, almost dissolving into giggles anew; Prenter’s face was a _picture_. So red he seemed to become actually purple, and moustache actually trembling as he glared them down. He was about to open his mouth when Freddie barged back in.

 

"Alright, Jim will join us in the pub in about an hour – what’s so funny?"

 

Roger had actual tears of mirth running down his cheeks, pretty smile wide.

 

.

 

"– stop fucking with us, Rog, she did _not,_ " Freddie said, gasping.

 

Roger shook his head wildly, cheeks flushed. "I’m telling you she did! Took ‘em right out in the middle of eating, I swear –"

 

"Come _off_ of it, Roger," Ratty piped up. "I know you get luckier than any of us combined, but there’s no way –"

 

"No, I’m _telling_ you," Roger insisted. "We were just talking, and then off her top goes, right in the middle of the restaurant –"

 

"A McDonald’s is _not_ a restaurant," Brian interjected mildly, hiding a smile behind his pint. Roger swivelled around to face him, pointing a peanut at Brian.

 

"Oh, sorry, Mr. _High-and-mighty-I-only-eat-vegetarian-but-sometimes-in-fact-the-fishburgers_ –"

 

"Can we get back to the part where a bird whipped out her tits at a McDonald’s for you, please?" Ratty interjected with a filthy grin, one Roger was quick to return. "How do you get so _lucky_?"

 

"It’s the baby blue eyes and the pout," John said drily from next to Brian.

 

Roger winked at John. "Been thinking about my eyes, have you, Deaks?" John snorted.

 

"Oh, yeah, have I _ever_ ," John said sarcastically. "Eyes as blue as toilet freshener, disturbingly round –"

 

"Fuck you, John" Roger said cheerfully, while the rest of the table (sans Prenter) erupted into laughter.

 

"I wish someone would just whip out their dick for _me_ at a date," Freddie said mournfully. Jim pinched him.

 

"It’s not a date if you are at a McDonald’s," Brian interjected, grinning at Roger.

 

Roger glowered and chucked a peanut at his hair.

 

"That’s _my_ job," John told Roger, fishing the peanut out of Brian’s curls, tossing it at Roger. "Seriously though, why in the world would you take your date to a _McDonald’s_?"

 

"Why is everyone so fixated on that?" Roger groaned. "It was the only thing still open at 3AM –"

 

"I bet you wouldn’t have taken Dominique though. Wouldn’t have been up to her standard," Prenter’s voice spoke up suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, silence ringing loud after his statement. Brian watched as Roger’s face fell briefly at the mention of Dom, eyes darting to the right, and Brian turned to glare at Prenter, opening his mouth.

 

"I think you should go for a smoke," Jim said, beating Brian to the punch. Jim sounded gentle, as he always did, almost thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the steel behind his words.

 

"What?" Prenter blinked, looking at them. "Why? It’s not as if it’s still bothering Roger, with the amount of _dates_ he’s been going on." Prenter’s face remained perfectly innocent, but the glint in his eyes was anything but. Brian clenched his teeth.

 

To everyone’s surprise, it was Freddie who spoke up. "Maybe you should step outside for a minute, dear," he suggested to Paul with a worried glance to Roger’s closed off expression. Paul stared at Freddie for a moment, betrayed, before his expression turned thunderous, shoving poor Ratty and Crystal out of their booth to leave.

 

They all watched him storm off. Brian felt a dark sort of cheerfulness, hoping the man would choke on the cigarette smoke.

 

"Roger, darling –" Freddie spoke up, reaching out over the table, aborting the motion when Roger turned his glare at him.

 

"That’s exactly why your pet shouldn’t be allowed inside, Fred," Roger said.

 

"He didn’t know what he said –"

 

"He did," John interrupted, cutting off Freddie’s attempt of defending Prenter, before he turned to Roger. "You owe me ten quid, by the way." Roger squinted at him, before he remembered their conversation in the studio, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly up.

 

"I’ll take that, and we’re getting drinks," Ratty said, fishing the tenner out of Roger’s fingers. "God knows we need them," he added, before he grabbed Crystal by the shoulder. Crystal shot a guarded look at Roger, but remained uncharacteristically quiet and let Ratty drag him towards the bar. Across from them, Freddie and Jim were arguing quietly, Freddie’s jaw set stubbornly in a way that would drive Brian up the wall if he was the one arguing with him.

 

He decided to leave them occupied, and leaned over to Roger.

 

"Are you –" he began, but Roger waved his hand.

 

"Please," he said, head held high. "As if a rat like Prenter is worth my fucking time."

 

Brian almost believed him, if not for the too-sharp tone Roger didn’t quite seem to be able to control.

 

"You know you can talk about it, if you want," Brian said.

 

Roger’s nostrils flared. "Thanks, I’ll pass." John leaned over to get a better look at Roger.

 

"Yes, because you’re absolutely unaffected by his words," he drawled. Roger shot him a side glare.

 

"You never did tell us why you broke up," Brian added. "And you really seemed to like her, and I think – you were serious about her." Roger looked into the crowd for a long moment.

 

"I don’t really want to talk about it," he said finally, studiously looking down at the table.

 

"Roger –" John tried to interject. Roger snapped his head up, temper clearly roused.

 

"Frankly, Deaky, it’s none of your business," he ground out. "It was messy, it hurt, and that’s all you need to know." John reared back a bit, clearly startled by the harsh, dismissive tone. Across from them, both Freddie and Jim had stopped whispering at Roger’s outburst. Roger, who kept looking to the right. Brian thought he was probably eager for Crystal and Ratty to return with the drinks for a distraction, and decided to take mercy on him. If Roger didn’t want to talk about Dominique, then fair enough – it had been only a few months after their break-up.

 

"I’m sorry, Rog," he said softly. "I didn’t mean to pry." Roger shrugged, but the tension visibly seeped out of him.

 

"Yeah," John said, mouth twisted in that certain way that indicated he was contrite, but didn’t feel like admitting it just yet. "How about I buy you a drink, something other than this swill Fred brought –" there was a muffled protest from Freddie which went ignored. "– and we can people-watch."

 

People-watch was code between John and Roger for getting shitfaced and judging people. Roger immediately brightened.

 

.

 

Some point after Roger and John had disappeared into the crowd, Ratty and Crystal returned, and shortly after, Prenter too unfortunately, looking the whole time as if he’d bit into a lemon. Brian elected to ignore him, as did everyone else, apart from Freddie. Brian let himself be pulled into a conversation about equipment by Ratty and Crystal, which quickly grew heated between the two. Brian let his eyes wander across the packed pub, listening with one ear as Crystal called Ratty something very colourful, when his eyes landed on John and Roger between the crowd.

 

As usual, they were huddled close, Roger’s cheeks a bright pink, either from the alcohol or his smile, and John’s eyes were crinkled, smile wide and just side of wicked as they whispered to each other, eyes roaming over the crowd. Brian felt his lips curl into a fond smile, when Roger suddenly found his gaze, grinning at him. Brian smiled back, glad that Roger’s dark mood seemed to have dissipated completely. The crowd surged and Brian lost sight of them again. He talked to Freddie for a bit, pointedly ignoring Freddie’s efforts to include Prenter, Jim watching on amusedly.

 

He suddenly felt a prickle down his neck, and turned, eyes roaming – someone was watching him, and he had a good idea who.

 

His eyes found John’s first, this time, and his breath got stuck in his throat.

 

John was looking at him, heated gaze boring into his own. Roger was tucked into his side, John for once taking advantage of his height, him pulling Roger even closer into him. Brian didn’t see where Roger’s hand was, but he could take an educated guess. The visible arm was slung around John’s waist, playing with a button of John’s shirt.

 

Then Roger _leered_ at him, hand wandering down from John’s shirt to John’s inseam, eyes lidded. John shuddered just barely, looking at Brian with pure want, arching slightly into Roger’s not-quite-touch. Brian swallowed, mouth gone dry, when Roger mouthed ‘come’, jerking his head to the side, in the directions of the restrooms. Startled, with heat surging through him, he looked at John, who nodded, mirroring Roger’s lewd smirk.

 

"Excuse me," Brian said, sliding out of the booth, eyes fixed on the two men, all but tripping over his own feet in his haste to follow their disappearing figures.

 

He didn’t see Freddie’s frown, but Crystal, Ratty and Jim did. No one cared to look to Prenter, whose expression turned thoughtful.

 

.

 

"Are you serious – _here_?" John asked, look of mild disgust as he looked around. Roger had dragged them to the staff toilet instead to the public ones, and Brian supposed it was a good idea – less danger of someone walking in on them, but the toilets weren’t much – cleaner, and little bigger than a broom closet. Roger rolled his eyes, locking the door.

 

"No one is saying we’re doing it on the floor – I do have standards," he sniffed.

 

"Of course," John said snidely, taking another pointed look around.

 

"Can’t we just – wait until we go home?" Brian asked, breath stuttering halfway during the sentence, as Roger’s hand fell on Brian’s crotch, half-hard cock twitching in interest. Roger smirked at him.

 

"Where’s your sense of adventure, Brimi?" he asked, tugging John closer as well by his belt loops. John went willingly, studying Roger with growing interest. "Don’t you miss it? The thrill of getting caught, the quickies between shows –" Roger’s voice got lower, gently rubbing over Brian’s straining cock.

 

"We’re not twenty anymore," Brian gasped out.

 

"So you don’t like what we’re doing right now?" Roger asked innocently, slowing down.

 

Brian gritted his teeth in an effort not to moan pathetically. "I didn’t say that," he said, voice pressed.

 

"Live a little, Bri," Roger whispered, leaning closer to mouth the words into Brian’s collarbone. "Relax." Deftly, Roger thumbed Brian’s jeans open, pulling them down slightly, before shoving a hand unceremoniously down his underwear.

 

" _Fuck_ ," Brian hissed, throwing his head back. Roger hummed against his collarbone, and Brian felt more than saw him dragging John closer, the space being as tight as it was. Roger seemed to have gotten completely over his reluctance to touch, as he pulled them closer still, until his and John’s noses were brushing; Roger being almost a head shorter than either of them, didn’t quite – reach. John grinned over Roger’s head at Brian, a slow, languid thing, followed by John brushing their lips heatedly.

 

"Yeah, you do that, John," Roger breathed, just as John tugged Brian closer, licking into his mouth fully now. He seemed unhurried, but something about the thorough way John was exploring his mouth had liquid heat pooling in Brian’s gut, Roger’s clever hand around his cock only adding to the fire, and despite being practically pressed up to the wall by Roger and John, he scrabbled for John’s shoulder, desperate for something to hold on to.

 

Brian broke the kiss an eternity later, breathing heavily. John let his head fall back, and now Brian could see Roger more clearly, or rather, Roger delicately rolling John’s balls in one hand, while still pumping Brian mercilessly. Brian shakily let go of John’s shoulder, instead brushing over Roger’s jaw, who blinked up at him.

 

" _God_ , Rog," he said. "You’re amazing, do you know that?" Roger grinned at him, blue eyes shining, blush spreading. Struck by sudden impulse, Brian cradled his jaw and leaned down.

 

Their lips were just shy of touching when Roger moved slightly back and turned his head, exposing his neck – both a rejection and an invitation. Brian swallowed, something tight and heavy curling in his chest, but then John moved in his stead, leaning over to brush a kiss on Roger’s exposed neck, who moaned appreciatively, and Brian figured if Roger didn’t want to kiss right now, then fine. Instead, he snaked a hand down Roger’s tight trousers, tugging them loose. Roger closed his eyes with a content sigh. John leaned further into Roger, one hand sneaking into Roger’s halfway unbuttoned shirt, caressing the skin he found there while still pressing soft, biting kisses into the column of his throat. Then Roger’s hand, previously still stroking steadily Brian’s cock, curled around his waist and dragged him closer, his cock deliciously sliding along Roger’s leather-clad hip.

 

Brian let out a horribly embarrassing keening sound, realizing he was already much closer to coming than he’d assumed. Roger smiled up at him, less of a smirk and something more genuine, hand wandering lower until he stroked over Brian’s arse. Brian shuddered, and then Roger grabbed a firm hold of his arse, John simultaneously cradling his neck from behind, fingers threading through his hair at the nape of his neck.

 

Brian felt hot, almost burning as Roger urged him into something resembling a rhythm, leaving him rutting against his hip, hand kneading one arse cheek encouragingly. Brian shuddered again, cheek coming to rest on Roger’s head, sweaty hair tickling his face.

 

He was barely holding on, legs shaking, glad that he was held up by the wall and by the other two.

 

"Hey, c’mon, Bri," Roger said soothingly, urging him to go faster. John tugged lightly at his hair, lifting his head from Roger’s throat, latching onto Brian’s instead. "Come for us, love."

 

Brian shook, gasping into Roger’s hair as he came, spilling over Rogers hip and thigh.

 

"So pretty when you come, Brian," Roger sighed, finally letting go of Brian’s arse, hand stroking Brian’s hip in comfort, before he took gingerly hold of Brian’s spent cock, stroking lightly. Brian whimpered, mouthful of Roger’s hair as he felt the last few drops spilling, Roger apparently hellbent on milking his poor, oversensitive cock for all it was worth.

 

John took pity on him. "He does need to be able to walk on his own, Rog," he said, tone gently teasing. Roger chuckled, and after a last, loving stroke over his cock, he let go. Brian leant back, feeling like he was fifteen again, overwhelmed by his body. John reached around Roger, dipping his fingers into Brian’s come where it was trickling down his leather pants. John brought his fingers up to his mouth then, and _sucked_.

 

Roger groaned, biting his lips at the display, legs falling open just a bit.

 

Brian felt his knees unlock, and feeling boneless already, he let himself slide to the floor.

 

Roger and John looked at him with alarmed expressions, but Brian grabbed Roger’s knee, other hand coming to rest over his bulge, and Roger choked on his next words.

 

"Oh," breathed John, fingers pulling out of his mouth, staring down at him intently. He reached down, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb. Brian darted his tongue out for a curious lick.

 

Roger made another choking sound, and Brian turned to him.

 

"Can I suck you off? Wanted to since the other day," he asked, voice raspy.

 

" _Jesus fuck_ ," Roger cursed, but nodded quickly. "Yeah, ‘course you can, you – you can do anything you want, Bri."

 

Brian could tell it wasn’t an idle promise, and John hummed.

 

"Tempting," John told Roger, leaning closer and manoeuvring him so he was tucked against his side again, close enough that their heated cheeks were brushing with every other breath. "We’ll see about that another time. Bri, honey," he said, hiding a smirk at Roger’s dilated pupils. "Think you can handle us both?"

 

Brian replied with an insistent tug on Roger’s pants. Roger’s hand flew to Brian’s cheek, cradling it.

 

"Brian –" there was something soft and hesitant in Roger’s voice that reminded Brian of the day they got to touch him for the first time, and the morning after, where Roger had been so infuriatingly reluctant to let himself _want_.

 

Infuriating, because Brian had wanted, _did_ want, ever since that night, since he’d cradled Roger’s heavy balls, saw that pretty cock nestled between Roger’s legs, so heavy, Roger so responsive to even the lightest touch. John had had his turn – now Brian wanted to be the one responsible for all those lovely noises Roger made. His eyes met John’s briefly, and John looked down at him knowingly.

 

Before Roger could protest something he clearly wanted, _again_ , Brian pulled his cock fully free and swallowed him down in one go.

 

Roger wailed, sound muffled by the crook of John’s neck.

 

"Fuck, Brian, your _mouth_ –" Roger moaned, fingers carding through his hair. Brian hummed, eliciting another small sound from Roger. From his periphery he saw John pulling his own cock free, idly stroking himself to the same pace as Brian was sucking Roger off. He raised a hand to join John’s, when his fingers brushed with alien ones – Roger apparently just coherent enough for the same train of thought.

 

" _Fucking hell_ ," John grunted as Brian curled his fingers about the base of his cock, weaving his fingers around John’s, Roger’s smaller hand coming to cradle both his and John’s, setting a quicker pace together. "’m not going to last long like this," John breathed into Roger’s cheek.

 

Roger made a high sound between a laugh and a moan. "You think _I_ will?" Brian could feel the faint tremor of Roger’s legs beneath his hand, holding his hip in place as he bobbed his head, pulling all the way off until only his tongue was left to swirl around the head.

 

"God, you really like it, don’t you?" John mumbled, looking down at him in adoration. "Like being on your knees in a filthy bathroom, where anyone could walk in, like a good boy." Brian whimpered around Roger’s cock, squeezing the fingers interwoven with his as best as he could. A small part in Brian felt he shouldn’t like this – being on his knees for them – so much, but he couldn’t help himself. Everything felt too hot, like molten gold slowly sliding up his whole body – and Brian wanted to drown in it.

 

John pressed even closer to Roger, whose eyelashes were fluttering, mouth wet and parted and so, so red.

 

"Roger, you’re close aren’t you?" John continued. "Can’t wait for you to finish, I’m going to taste you off Brian, lick you all out of his mouth –"

 

Roger whimpered into John’s neck as he came, filling Brian’s mouth with hot, salty come, and Brian was overwhelmed by the sudden _hunger_ he felt, something deep and carnal as he swallowed down all of it, not releasing Roger’s twitching cock until he felt him tugging at his curls insistently.

 

Brian went willingly enough, licking his lips as he did, and this time it was John who gave a needy whimper. Brian squeezed his hand around the base of John’s cock more firmly, which had been neglected a bit in the past few minutes.

 

"Bri, get up here, please," John whined, body arching toward him. Brian would’ve loved to, but his legs still felt like jelly, and he wasn’t sure if he would manage to keep standing.

 

Roger, ever helpful, leaned down as far as John’s death grip on his waist allowed, grabbing him under his arms and hauled him up, Brian stumbling into both of them, when Roger caught him around his hip, smiling up at him.

 

"Easy, Brimi," he said, looking up at him with a soft expression, everything soft about him in that moment, Brian found. Before he could follow that train of thought further, John ripped his own hand free from between Roger’s and his own around his cock, grabbing Brian by his shirt and tugging him into a fierce kiss, demanding and desperate and _hungry_ , wet and open-mouthed and filthy.

 

Then Roger wound his delicate fingers around Brian’s own, setting a much faster, prominent rhythm Brian almost recognized, John sighed, sudden warmth spilling over both his and Roger’s joint hands as John came, slumping into them.

 

Roger cooed tender filth into John’s ear as they disentangled themselves slowly from John, Brian grabbing a hold of the tissues and beginning to clean himself up, tucking his cock back into his trousers and smoothing down his shirt. There was a chuckle from across him, and he looked up.

 

"Brian, I don’t think sorting out your shirt is going to help – all of that," John said, waving a shaking hand in his general direction. Brian blinked at him.

 

"You look like you’ve spent the better part of fifteen minutes on the floor sucking cock, love," Roger chuckled in agreement.

 

John twitched as Roger took a few paper towels and cleaned his cock. "Has – has it really been only fifteen minutes?" He asked. Roger shrugged.

 

"Don’t know really, might’ve been longer."

 

Brian took in the others’ appearance, and while they could fix themselves up a bit, everyone who wasn’t black out drunk would know what they had been up to. "We can’t go out there looking like this – they’ll know."

 

"Yeah –"

 

"I’ll go out there and tell them you aren’t feeling well," Roger shrugged. "Even if they think I got some in a bathroom, it’s not exactly out of character for me – they won’t make the connection with you."

 

The way he said it irked Brian, but his mind was too foggy to chase after the _why_. And Roger did look only marginally dishevelled next to John, who still had a glazed look and flushed cheeks, not to mention the swollen lips.

 

"Alright – meet you out back?" Brian asked slowly. Roger grinned, thumbs up as he unlocked the door and, after a quick glance down the hallway, scurried out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW now that was something, right? ;)
> 
> Okay, tiny announcement. I'm not feeling too good at the moment health-wise, and it's really impacting my writing speed and general motivation. That could mean, if I don't get my groove back, that after chapter 12, you guys might have to wait a bit longer for the updates. I do hope it works itself out though, so don't worry yet, because Chapter 12 is a whole damn meal, let me tell you.
> 
> On a lighter note, I just ate my first homegrowm tomato and it was d e l i c i o u s, I'm so proud 😌


	11. Guidance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> No smut in this one but some actual plot and a,,, warm up for the 7k smut chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ You guys make me live (now, honey~)
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

“I come bearing gifts,” Roger told Freddie cheerfully as he entered the studio, brandishing the strawberry-plum schnapps like a trophy, while shaking out the snow off his jacket.

 

Freddie, early for a change, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “It’s December 10th?”

 

“Where’s your Christmas spirit, Fred?” Roger retorted. “I’m sure there’s _somewhere_ they’re already celebrating.”

 

“ _It’s December 10th_ ,” Freddie stressed.

 

“Bah,” Roger said. “Do you want the schnapps or not?” Freddie gestured to his glass in front of him, while idly leafing through a magazine. “You’re such a div–“ the rest of the sentence was interrupted by a violent sneeze.

 

“Serves you right for running around in _that_ ,” Freddie said, nodding at Roger’s light leather jacket while he handed him a tissue.

 

“But I look good,” he whined, blowing his nose in between the words. Freddie looked both amused and disgusted.

 

“Just as you do with a runny nose and a thermometer stuck in your face, dear,” Freddie replied, taking a swig from the schnapps before grimacing at the sweet taste. “But I’m sure there’s _someone_ who would carter to your sick arse.”

 

Roger looked at Freddie for a long moment, trying to gauge his meaning, but Freddie was still pretending to be interested in the magazine.

 

“Like _who_?” He prompted.

 

Freddie hummed. “You disappeared quite suddenly the other night, the three of you,” he said glibly, turning a page. Roger restrained from ducking his head, but only just.

 

“Brian wasn’t feeling well,” Roger shrugged, going for casual and probably missing by a mile.

 

Freddie studied him over the rim of his magazine. “I’m sure he was, the poor dear,” he said, each word dripping with sarcasm. “But Deaky and you took very good care of him, I’m sure.” Roger hoped his blush wasn’t too obvious.

 

“Uh, sure,” Roger replied.

 

Freddie hummed, eyes falling back to his magazine.

 

“Fred if you want to say something, just come out and _say it,_ ” Roger told him. Best get it done and over it.

 

Freddie sighed, and put his stupid magazine down, finally. “You’re fucking John and Brian and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

Roger knew it was coming but it still made his teeth clench. “We didn’t _actually_ fuck.” Yet.

 

“Roger, love,” Freddie sighed. “You don’t need to lend them a hand in the biblical sense, you know.”

 

He snorted. “It’s a bit late for that, Fred,” Roger said, before chewing his lip in thought. “We – are we being too obvious?”

 

“Not usually, but that night? Yes,” Freddie said pointedly. “– that, and the drying come on your leather trousers gave it away, really,” Freddie said nonchalantly.

 

Roger choked.

 

“Not that I’m not happy for you to get your dick properly wet again, darling –“

 

Roger felt offended. “I _do_ go on dates –“

 

“Yes, and how have those worked out for you?” Freddie interrupted, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Either with an aborted shag because you were too hung up on Dominique, or taking them to a fucking kids restaurant, and now you don’t go _at all_ , while you’ve been pretending everything is _just fine_.”

 

Roger shifted uncomfortably. Freddie was scarily observant, and this had hit more close to home than Roger was really comfortable with.

 

“Well, I’m – I’m not looking for anything serious, now, not after Dom. And, with – with Bri and Deaky, well, I’m – err – getting my fill.” He winced, praying his stumbling wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Freddie’s face morphed into something more sympathetic, so Roger knew he had to sound pathetic. “I don’t think – I don’t think that I’m relationship material, maybe, so this – this works out just fine – they need, uh, guidance, and so, it works out for all parties involved.”

 

“ _Guidance_ , he says,” Freddie muttered sourly. He studied Roger for a long moment. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, darling?” His voice was soft, almost sad.

 

Roger swallowed. “Fred, we’re all adults here. I’m helping my friends out, ‘s all.” Freddie looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching, before he sighed, nodding.

 

“Alright,” he said slowly. “Then I won’t speak of it anymore.”

 

“Yeah, okay–“

 

“But maybe you should talk about Dom, at least to C–“

 

“ _No_ ,” Roger said forcefully. “It’s done and over, and no use crying over spilt milk, is there?”

 

Freddie muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _stubborn bastard’_. “Fine,” he snapped. “Suit yourself.”

 

“Fine,” Roger snapped right back, room falling into icy silence.

 

After a few moments, Freddie sighed, giving in. “Where are they, by the way?”

 

“Meeting with management,” Roger shrugged, jiggling his leg in thought. “Remember, we were all invited, originally, but Deaky uninvited us two because last time I almost punched one of those suit-wearing pricks and you arrive two hours late on principle.”

 

“ _God_ , they’re wankers,” Freddie grunted.

 

“At least they pay us what we’re due,” Roger said, but it sounded weak to his own ears.

 

“Well,” Freddie said. “Enough for you to afford this absolute sugary swill, at least.” He took a swig straight from the bottle, before passing the bottle to Roger. “Might as well kill the time.”

 

.

 

Almost an hour later, the door suddenly flew open with a loud bang, startling both Freddie and Roger out of their lazy state, Roger having absentmindedly started to scribble something that could become a song, maybe. They looked up to meet the angry faces of John and Brian.

 

_Very angry._

 

“Oh dear,” Freddie said.

 

“You’re going to love this,” John said, face a picture of dark fury as he slammed a piece of paper – an advert – down on the rickety coffee table. Prenter slunk in after them, and Roger felt his own mood sour just by principle.

 

John caught sight of the opened bottle of schnapps and scowled. “Are you _drinking_?” He asked incredulously.

 

“We’re sampling,” Roger retorted.

 

“It’s not even noon,” Brian said, his famous lecturing tone irking Roger, making his own hackles rise.

 

“So? Who are you, my mother?”

 

“Thank fuck I’m not –“

 

“Gents,” Freddie interrupted pointedly, advert in hand. “What’s this about us performing on Top of the Pops on Christmas?”

 

“ _What_?” Roger snapped, ripping the offending flyer out of Freddie’s hands. He felt himself go white with rage as he quickly read through it. “Buck Fizz? _Costello_?!” Roger almost shrieked. “Are they _joking_?” John shook his head grimly.

 

“Not to mention the short notice,” Brian growled.

 

“Jim’s family will be so disappointed that I’m not visiting – again,” Freddie sighed, quiet and sorrowful.

 

“We’re not doing it,” John said immediately.

 

“John, I think we kind of – have to,” Brian said, looking like someone took a shit on his Old Lady. John shot him a dark look.

 

“What really pisses me off,” Roger said. “Is that they didn’t even bother to _ask_.”

 

“They don’t _have_ to,” Prenter piped up suddenly, having been content to lurk in the shadows until then. “They’re managing you – they _can_ decide things like that.”

 

“Fuck them, then,” Roger spat. “I was going to visit my mum’s – I promised I would be there, they can’t just –“

 

“They can,” Prenter stressed, looking the absolute picture of apologetic. Roger wanted to punch him.

 

“Oh, I bet this was your idea in the first place, wasn’t it you little rat –“

 

“Rog, really, darling, that’s not helping anyone –“

 

“Well, the advert is already out, anyway,” Prenter said. “Can’t go disappointing fans and the like, can you?”

 

“No, fuck that, they need to tell us shit like this sooner,” Roger said, feeling more angry with each passing second Prenter breathed the same air as him.

 

“Well, maybe you should think about visiting your dear mum once in a while, then,” Prenter sniffed.

 

Roger narrowed his eyes at him and took a step forward, and despite being smaller than Prenter, he managed to loom over him. Prenter took a step back, startled.

 

Freddie decided to intervene. “Enough, Paul,” he told Prenter, gently pushing Roger away from Prenter. Roger felt his face contort in a vicious snarl, but then there was another hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and into a chest – Brian’s chest. “Is there nothing we can do to persuade management, dear?” Freddie asked Paul, imploring. “I’d really like to go with Jim to visit his family.”

 

That, of course, was the wrong thing to say – the almost soft expression on Prenter’s face melting into something hard and blank.

 

“I’m afraid not, Freddie,” he said, in a sweetly apologetic voice. “You know it’s just business - I’m sure you can go another time.” Freddie visibly drooped at the words.

 

“Of course – I’ll, I’ll talk to Jim –“

 

“We could just dump them,” John interjected calmly. Everyone turned to him. “Management, I mean.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“Come again?” Brian spluttered, the first to react. Freddie shared a look with Roger.

 

“You can’t just decide things like that!” Prenter interjected, looking frazzled.

 

“I’m not,” John sniffed daintily, looking at Prenter like he was a particularly disgusting turd sticking to his shoes. “I’m bringing it up for discussion.” He sat down next to Roger.

 

“Fine by me,” Roger shrugged. “They can’t pull shit like this and expect no consequences.” John beamed at him.

 

“Hold on just a minute –“ Brian said again. “We can’t just dump them in the spur of the moment – there are legal concerns –“

 

“We’re not dumping them in this very moment, we’re _talking_ about it,” John emphasized. “The question is if it’s an option for all of us.”

 

“Legal shit later,” Roger supplied helpfully. John gestured to him in assent.

 

“Brian, dear, you can’t pretend you’re happy about – this,” Freddie said, waving at the flyer. Brian sighed, and sat down.

 

“No,” he breathed out. “They’re fucking pricks – we had plans too,” he added, glancing at John.

 

“We _have_ plans,” John corrected. “Depending on what we decide.”

 

“You can’t just –“

 

“Paul, dear,” Freddie intercepted smoothly. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you perhaps try and talk to management? Try to persuade them? It is really quite short notice, and as you can see, we all have different engagements,” Freddie said, softly, but leaving no room for arguments.

 

Prenter huffed. “I can try, but their storm-off –“ he gestured at John and Brian. “– didn’t really help matters either.”

 

“You’re a dear,” Freddie said sweetly, patting his cheek, and Roger thought he was lying it on a bit thick. It seemed to work however, and Prenter actually flushed, before he muttered something to Freddie and left, of course without saying so much as ‘bye’ to any of them.

 

“Bitch,” Brian muttered, tossing himself into the loveseat next to Roger. Roger chuckled and tugged at his curls.

 

“Did you actually have plans on Christmas?” He asked John and Brian curiously, because so far, they hadn’t said anything about going away over the holidays.

 

“No,” Brian said, the same time that John replied with “Yes.” Both sat up, scowling at each other.

 

“We _do_ have plans,” John said, eyes flashing. “You even said so yourself, just now!”

 

Brian rolled his eyes. “Holing ourselves up for fucking and calling it plans is a bit generous,” he told John. “I was just trying to get that snake off our back –“

 

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind playing a show along with – Roy Wood, was it? – instead of spending the day fucking me into the mattress –“

 

“ _Okay_ , you two,” Freddie all but shrieked. “No one –“ he eyed Roger “– _I_ don’t want to hear about _that_. Can we please just focus on the matter at hand?”

 

“What’s there to discuss?” Roger wondered. “We dump ‘em, everyone has a nice holiday, the end.”

 

John snorted.

 

“And who do you imagine would manage us?” Freddie retorted. “Santa?”

 

“We could always manage ourselves,” John said. Everyone turned to stare at him, and he flushed lightly. “I mean, we have Miami for the legal hassles, I already manage almost all our finances –“ he trailed off with a small shrug.

 

“I do like the sound of that,” Brian admitted after a pause. “At least until we find someone more – agreeable.”

 

Freddie threw up his hands. “This isn’t like the girls Roger used to dump via phone call – we can’t just call them up and tell them they’re dumped.”

 

“Hey,” Roger pouted. “I only dumped the really scary ones with a call.”

 

“Oh, god, I remember Jessica,” Brian chortled. “She looked like she could bench press all four of us at once.”

 

Roger sighed dreamily. “She almost suffocated me with her thighs one time – was surprisingly – err, docile, otherwise, though.”

 

“I’m sure you liked it that way,” Brian told Roger, looking at him from under his lashes. Roger felt heat tickle down his spine, and felt John shift closer.

 

“Oh my God,” Freddie groaned, jerking him out of his trance. “Can you three keep it in your pants long enough so we can have a nice, _civil_ conversation?”

 

“Sorry, Fred,” Roger said, looking at Brian’s lips. Freddie muttered something under his breath.

 

“We could call a meeting,” John suggested. “With Miami – discuss our options.” He was looking at Brian too.

 

“Yeah, we should do that,” Brian agreed, finally turning away from them to look at Freddie. “I wouldn’t mind a – change, but I’d like to know the possible outcomes, first.”

 

“At least one of you still has a braincell left,” Freddie said. “Who’s going call him?”

 

“Not it,” Roger said promptly.

 

“Oh, _very_ mature, Rog –“ Freddie snarked.

 

“Not it either,” John piped up, interrupting Freddie.

 

Freddie stared at him. He turned to stare at Brian. Brian stared back.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ –“

 

“Not it,” Brian said quickly.

 

Freddie groaned. “Fuck you.”

 

“Have fun calling Miami,” Roger said cheerfully.

 

“You,” Freddie pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Are a very bad influence and I hate you.”

 

“No you don’t.”

 

“No,” Freddie said mournfully. “I don’t.”

 

.

 

“– Fuck,” John muttered, bucking into Roger’s hand. “Fuck, Roger, that’s so good.”

 

“I know,” Roger grinned into the crook of his neck, where he was lightly sucking into the skin, teasing over John’s cock, half out from his pants. “Gotta be quick though, Deaks.” John just moaned, legs splaying wider, inviting Roger in.

 

“Freddie is going to kill us,” Brian said from across them, but he didn’t sound particularly worried, which probably had to do with the erection he was palming through his jeans, which –

 

“I said no touching, Bri,” Roger said lowly, lifting his head from John’s neck. Brian whimpered, squirming under Roger’s pointed stare, slowly shifting his hand to clench into the fabric of the couch. “If you can’t listen, I won’t touch you at all.”

 

Brian squirmed again.

 

“Rog,” John breathed into his ear, breath stuttering as Roger pushed his hand further down into his pants, massaging his balls. He raised his head up from where he was still pinning Brian with a look, finding himself only inches away from John’s. “Rog, I –“

 

None of them heard the door open.

 

“So, Miami sai–“

 

The rest of Freddie’s sentence was cut off by a high, girlish shriek.

 

“Oh my fuck, I’m fucking _blind!_ ” Freddie wailed, covering his eyes with his hands, turning away. “ _You fucking horny pricks_!”

 

“Fuck, Fred, I’m so sorry –“ Brian stammered, curling into himself in an attempt to hide his bulge, while Roger hastily pulled John’s pants up fully, beet red.

 

“You wankers, I was gone for less than five minutes – I _just_ sat there on that very couch! Now we have to burn it!”

 

“Freddie, c’mon,” Roger tried to console him, his arousal all but wilted.

 

“Why is this happening to me?” Freddie continued to lament, ignoring the three of them. “You’re all fucking grounded – prohibited to defile anything I am going to sit on!”

 

“We said we’re sorry,” John mumbled, hiding behind Roger. Freddie just made a pitiful noise.

 

Then Brian snickered, before his eyes went wide, hand flying to his mouth, trying to disguise it with a cough. Freddie’s head shot up.

 

Roger felt his own lips twitch upwards. John swallowed down a laugh at Freddie’s growing distress.

 

“Oh, why do I even bother with you brats,” Freddie muttered. “You all need a good spanking.”

 

Roger just grinned at him diabolically.

 

“ _Not like that!_ ” Freddie shrieked, throwing his hands up. Roger looked to John, who was staring at Brian, who was staring at Roger.

 

_Interesting_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Freddie, I would've strangled them lmao. Anyway, tell me what u think ;)


	12. Delirious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John feels like he is delirious from how much he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
> 
> What's this? Am I blushing? Hmm, must be the 7k of smut, whoops
> 
> Thank you all for commenting on the last chaper ♥♥♥ You guys make me live (now, honey~)
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

"– Freddie’s face, I’m still not over it," Roger cackled, making his way through the slow traffic.

 

"You started it, Rog," John said, rolling his eyes. A car cut in in front of Roger, and Roger cursed, flipping the other driver off. "I could’ve done without Freddie seeing my cock, though," he added, and could feel his ears go slightly pink. It wasn’t as if Freddie hadn’t walked in on him in a compromising position before, but it made him shiver thinking about how he had been the only one even remotely exposed.

 

"But it’s _such_ a pretty cock, Deaks," Roger said, and though the tone was exaggeratedly sugary, the quick look he shot John was loaded with dark heat, and it made John’s toes curl.

 

Brian, who had been quiet in the backseat until then, spoke up. "Are you just dropping us off, Rog?" Brian’s tone was conversational, but his voice was low, gravelly.

 

Roger was quiet for a moment, before he met Brian’s eyes in the rearview mirror. "Depends, Brimi," Roger said. He matched Brian’s conversational tone equally, but he was watching Brian intently, as much as the slow traffic allowed him. John heard Brian swallow.

 

"Come home with us," John said on impulse. Both looked at him. "If you want to," he added lamely, hoping he hadn’t sounded too eager, too desperate.

 

Roger smiled, a small thing, full of dark, sweet promises.

 

.

 

Roger was different tonight – a different sort of energy, John thought. Maybe it was because none of them were even remotely buzzed (Roger’s ‘tasting’ with the weird schnapps had long since worn off, or they wouldn’t have let him drive) and it didn’t feel hurried, didn’t feel distant, but –

 

The way Roger eyed both Brian and himself up, herding them into their bedroom, steps unhurried, but body language decisive, even assertive, made John want to defer to him, curious and apprehensive where the glint in Roger’s eyes would take them.

 

John liked control, usually craved control, loved the rush when Brian yielded it to him, would love Roger to give him the same, some time, but Roger’s hand was strong and warm where it was cradling the back of his neck, stroking the skin there lightly, and John wanted to _preen_.

 

A quick look to Brian over Roger’s head confirmed that Brian was much the same, cheeks slightly flushed as he let Roger guide him, his hand resting low on Brian’s back. John wondered if Roger’s touch was as searing to him as it was to John. Brian’s shoulders were hunched, as if he was trying to make himself smaller.

 

John found he liked it.

 

He still couldn’t help a split second of doubt – what if Brian didn’t want the same as him, what if _Roger_ didn’t? – but Roger was there, too, as if reading his thoughts, stepping into John’s space, hands trailing down from his neck, down his spine.

 

John shivered.

 

"So tense," Roger mused, and John could taste his breath, standing as close as they were. Roger began rubbing the small of his back. "You need to relax, love."

 

John couldn’t stop the small sound at the back of his throat escaping, feeling himself melt into Roger’s warm touch. Roger tugged Brian closer by his wrist, until they all shared the same breath. Brian was biting his lip nervously, eyes flicking from John to Roger, then back again. Roger smiled, amused curl at the corner of his mouth, looking both fond and mischievous simultaneously.

 

"I’m going to help you wind down, Deaky," Roger continued, hand wandering lower. John wanted. "Bri," Roger said, turning to Brian, tangling their fingers. "I want you to strip."

 

Roger’s tone was gentle, but there was nothing soft about it – it wasn’t a suggestion. Brian looked at Roger, then at John, before he bit his lip, untangling himself from them and taking a step back. Roger tugged John closer, turning him so they were both facing Brian, Roger’s chin settling on John’s shoulders, arms looping around his waist. John felt dizzy; Christ, but Roger was so warm, and now with being tucked against him, John felt – safe. _Tended_ _to_. He sank into Roger, and Roger caught him.

 

In front of them, Brian had slowly started to step out of his clothes, looking both eager and hesitant, unsure of himself.

 

"You look so pretty, Brian," Roger said, and John felt the vibrations of his throat against his shoulder. "So good for me – you wanna be good, don’t you?" Brian’s mouth fell open, but John knew him well, better than himself, sometimes, and Brian’s entire body turned to Roger, like a flower looking for some more sunlight, almost begging for whatever Roger was willing to give him with his body. John felt the smirk pressed into his shoulder, could feel Roger’s arms tighten around his own waist as Brian shucked his underwear, standing before them bare.

 

A small sound escaped John. Brian was so fucking beautiful, all pale and lean angles, and looking ready to be devoured. One of Roger’s hands traveled further down John’s front, playing with his zipper as they both took him in.

 

"Now," Roger spoke, gentle tone shifting into something more firm. "I want you on the bed, sweetheart."

 

 _Sweetheart_.

 

John shifted, let his head fall on Roger’s shoulder as Brian went breathless and fetchingly pink, only halting a second before being quick to scramble on the bed. John felt a small pang at it, almost like regret. Brian looked lovely, _inviting_ , but John had hoped it would’ve been his turn to – cede control.

 

"Spread out, love," Roger instructed Brian, pressing a dry kiss on John’s neck. "Let us see you." Brian complied, and God, did he look all kinds of lovely, spread out among their dark sheets. John swallowed, then felt another kiss pressed into his skin, and he shivered.

 

Roger pulled away from John then, and he was close to whining at the loss of him, missing the weight, the _warmth_ of him instantly, suddenly cold. He watched as Roger approached Brian, steps measured and posture completely at ease. Roger trailed a hand up Brian’s calf, the inside of his knee, up his thigh assessing Brian while Brian arched into every touch. Just shy of Brian’s already hard cock, Roger stopped, letting the hand rest there. Brian made a small, frustrated sound.

 

"We’re going to do something a bit different today," Roger smiled indulgently, just shy of wicked. "Bri," he said, leaning down, their faces almost touching. John was rooted to the spot. However, Roger didn’t move further, didn’t cross that last distance, and John felt both relieved and disappointed, but before he could further analyze it, Roger procured a small bottle of lube out of literally nowhere, taking one of Brian’s slender hands and closed his fingers around the lube.

 

Brian blinked at him, uncomprehending.

 

"I figured since you like to watch," Roger said, voice liquid and sweet, his lips just shy of touching Brian’s as they moved. "It’s only fair if we get to watch you first."

 

John’s breath caught.

 

Brian seemed still mostly confused, but something akin to apprehension dawned on his face. Roger breathed out a small, fond laugh, reaching out to caress a lock of hair out of his face.

 

"I want you to touch yourself, Brian," Roger enunciated. "I want you to put those beautiful fingers of yours to use. I want you to open yourself for me, I want to see what you look like when you come undone all by yourself."

 

Brian squirmed, and John could tell he was torn between want and embarrassment. "Rog, I’ve never really –"

 

"And," Roger plowed on. "If I like what I see, if John likes what he sees, if you’re being _good_ ," Brian trembled. "I’ll fuck you into outer space."

 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," John whispered, eyes wide as he watched Brian just melt into the sheets at Roger’s words, watched as Brian’s long legs fell open as if he couldn’t help it. Roger turned to him, smile sweet, but his eyes were dark; John couldn’t see any of the mesmerizing blue, even standing only a few feet away.

 

"Oh, don’t worry, lovely," Roger addressed him, voice like honey and John wanted – John needed – "I’ll take such good care of you – I know what you need, sweetheart."

 

 _That name again_ – John wanted to retort with something sarcastic and witty, but all he was able to come up with was an embarrassingly, needy whine. Roger moved away from Brian, but not without trailing his hand along his leg again, and Brian, still flushed, spread his legs even further, chasing after Roger’s fleeting touch. Roger reached John, stepping close, so they were chest to chest, Roger ghosting over the buttons of John’s shirt.

 

"What do you think, Deaky?" Roger asked, and even though Roger had to look up to meet his eyes a bit, John still felt small. "Want to get comfortable and watch Bri touch himself?"

 

"Y –" John swallowed around the dry lump in his throat. "Yeah," he managed. Roger still had a small, secretive smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

 

John wanted to kiss it off his smug face.

 

Then Roger looped an arm around John’s waist and guided him to one of their lush armchairs, draping himself gracefully over it. He tugged at John’s wrist, looking up at him, legs spread wide. John blinked down at him.

 

"Take a seat, love," Roger honest-to-God _purred_ , patting his thigh. John felt his knees wobble before he forced them to lock them. He wanted to – _fuck_ , but Roger had never looked so inviting – but he cast a glance back at Brian. The hand on his wrist moved, instead caressing the soft skin on the inside of his wrist soothingly. John turned slowly to face Roger again. "I’m here," Roger told him quietly. "I’m going to take care of you – you and Brian both," he continued.

 

John trembled – not out of fear, but out of eagerness, and part of him wanted to feel embarrassed. Roger seemed to know exactly how to push him to do his will, and John felt a swell of affection for him, because he could’ve asked John to dance the hula with only a leaf and he would’ve done it without questioning it – Roger made him feel safe, made something settle in his mind.

 

He gingerly sat down on one thigh, Roger’s hands immediately flying to his waist to steady him. Across from them on the bed, Brian was watching them intently.

 

"Ah, ah, Bri," Roger tutted as he pulled John more firmly onto his lap, one hand sneaking to the buttons of his shirt. "I told you it’s our turn to watch, didn’t I? You’re not being very good."

 

Brian fumbled with the lube immediately, hasty to get it open. "Sorry," he mumbled.

 

Roger pursed his lips. "That’s alright, Brimi – this time." Brian nodded, looking contrite, squirting some lube onto his fingers, before he paused. But Roger was there, too; "Start slow," he instructed, and nothing in his voice left any room for argument. "I want to see that gorgeous cock of yours all wet first, Bri."

 

John’s thighs twitched, both at the words and at Brian’s immediate compliance. Roger laughed quietly into his ear, expertly undoing a button on John’s shirt, other hand digging into John’s thigh. John felt as if his skin was too tight, too hot, too much, but yet not enough, as he watched Brian slowly stroke his cock, felt Roger’s warm fingers quickly work on his shirt, caressing the skin he uncovered, humming into John’s ear.

 

There were teeth on John’s neck, and John couldn’t help but buck in Roger’s arms. "So eager for me, hm?" Roger wondered, and John didn’t care if he meant Brian or himself, nodding eagerly anyway. "Brian," Roger continued. "Give your balls a good squeeze – there’s a love." Roger’s wandering hand found one of John’s nipples just in time with Brian’s long fingers traveling down further to do as Roger had instructed, pinching it not-quite-gently. John breathed out stutteringly, arching into Roger. Roger pulled him closer, firmly onto his lap, and John could feel Roger’s cock pressing into his arse, a sound between a sigh and a moan escaping him.

 

"Rog –" John mumbled, turning his head so he could see him properly. Roger had a slightly smug air about him – no, smug wasn’t the right word. He looked like a cat about to get the canary.

 

Roger’s other hand, which had been rhythmically clenching into the flesh of John’s thigh wandered up to John’s more than interested, and sadly, still clothed cock. "I think," Roger told John, "I think I want to finger you open as we watch Brian open himself up. Sound good?" As if Roger didn’t know _exactly_ how it sounded. John would’ve kicked him, but he felt breathless and dizzy by the mere picture of the suggestion; instead, he opted to lift himself off Roger’s lap long enough to kick his trousers off, the shirt and underwear quickly following, before he plopped himself into Roger’s lap again with more confidence than he felt.

 

"Well?" He asked Roger pointedly, wiggling himself closer to Roger’s still clothed cock. Roger stared at him, mouth wide, before he threw his head back and laughed delightedly.

 

The sound went straight to John’s cock. Judging from the noise coming from the bed, Brian felt the same.

 

"Oh, Deaky, you utter minx," Roger exclaimed, appraising him, and licked his lips. Before John could retort, Roger had grabbed him firmly by the back of his thighs, maneuvering him so he was partially straddling Roger, but still had a good view of Brian. Roger leaned close, mouthing at John’s throat for a moment, wide, delighted smile pressed into John’s skin. "I’m going to have fun fucking that lip out of you," he promised, voice suddenly deeper, _more_ , his hands tightening where they were resting just shy of the swell of John’s arse, and John knew it would leave bruises. The thought excited him more than he cared to examine at the moment, focusing instead on the thrill of being cradled on Roger’s lap, bare while Roger was still fully clothed.

 

One of Roger’s hands moved up, teasingly slow, until it came to rest over John’s arse, not moving further. John nudged Roger’s side a little, impatient, but Roger seemed content to let his hand just rest there.

 

"You’re so impatient," Roger clucked. "Bri, your better half is getting impatient – I think you should take his mind off it for a while." John turned his head to fully face Brian, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. Roger shuffled John closer, a finger just barely delving into John’s cleft, and John squirmed. "See?" Roger laughed into John’s neck. "A bona fide little brat," and he had the gall to wink at Brian, before his body language shifted, becoming more assertive. "Lube those lovely fingers up for me," he instructed Brian.

 

John watched, hypnotized, as Brian sat up slightly, pouring a generous amount of lube on his fingers, some dribbling down onto his stomach. "Warm it up for me, Brimi," Roger said, voice hushed, and John managed to tear his gaze from Brian to Roger long enough to confirm he was just as entranced by just watching Brian. Brian finally looked up from under his eyelashes. _Waiting_.

 

John felt, more than he heard the low purr, almost a growl, coming deep from Roger’s chest. He resisted the urge to curl more into Roger, but a moment later, he realized he didn’t _have_ to.

 

"Oh, Bri," Roger said. "You’re being so good for me, for us, you don’t even _know_." He sounded almost awed when he said it. "Lean back," he instructed. "With a pillow under your hips, so we can see you – yeah, like that, love." John watched as Brian exhaled a surprised a breath, and he found he liked it when Roger called Brian sweet pet names, because Brian instantly went lax, legs spreading further as he lowered himself down, fingers drifting to his cock, past his balls, down until he came to still in reach of his hole.

 

"Rog, I –" Brian said, the first thing he’d said in a while, having been content to let Roger take control. John ached to reach out to Brian; he sounded unsure and nervous, and John knew it was because Brian had never quite done that, with himself.

 

Roger seemed to sense it too, even if he likely didn’t _know_. "Just want you to feel good, Bri," Roger told him sweetly. "We just want to see you make yourself feel good."

 

Brian fidgeted under both Roger’s and John’s own stare. "Yeah, I – yeah, okay," he exhaled, nodding more to himself than to them.

 

"Gently," Roger said quietly, coaxing. "Take your time."

 

His gentle, yet firm tone seemed to do the trick; Brian took a stuttering breath, teasing along his hole for a moment, before slowly pushing one finger inside, making his eyes flutter shut.

 

"Relax," Roger continued. "If you’re too tense it won’t be easy –"

 

"I _know_ ," Brian bit, tension visibly leaving him, propped up legs falling open a bit more.

 

‘ _Brat’_ , Roger mouthed, and John hid a grin, but it fell away quickly by the sight of Brian slowly gaining confidence and fucking himself on his finger. Roger shifted around a bit, clothed erection dragging over John’s inseam, close to his crotch, grip leaving John briefly, before returning. John was so caught up watching Brian he barely noticed, at least not until –

 

"Oh," John said faintly. "Where did you even –" he moaned weakly at the feeling of Roger’s lubed up finger circling his hole. "You planned this." He had meant to sound more accusing, but him whimpering in between sentences kind of negated that.

 

Roger hummed. "’Course I did, sweetheart." Roger pressed down more firmly, and John gasped when Roger dipped inside of him just a little. "You two have been on edge since before that damn meeting, and God knows you need someone to unwind you two."

 

John wanted to pinch him, but Roger started to twist his finger inside him, and after a few delicious seconds he realized that Roger was moving inside him exactly in Brian’s pace.

 

He felt dizzy with the roaring desire suddenly flickering down his entire body.

 

Dizzy because he wanted _more_.

 

"Bri," he moaned into Roger’s hair. "Bri, please, _please_ , go faster." Roger laughed quietly, sun-warm, still teasing his one finger inside of him, too slow, _not enough_.

 

"Oh," he heard Brian say, and when he looked up from Roger’s fine hair, he was met with a wide-eyed, flushing Brian, who stared at both of them as if he was seconds away from marching over to them and _devouring_ Roger and him.

 

"Please," John said again, trying and failing to grind back onto Roger’s finger. Brian bit the inside of his cheek, and after a drawn-out moment, complied, working inside himself faster, more confident. Roger, being done with being a tease, matched Brian’s quickened pace immediately, and John could’ve wept with relief.

 

He knew, had always known Roger was talented, but _fuck_ , Roger was playing him better than Brian did his Old Lady. He slung his arms around Roger’s neck, holding on, not caring for the slightly weird angle, just glad he could still watch Brian as Roger worked into him smoothly without having to hold himself up – John didn’t know if he could’ve, knees weak as they were already.

 

"Add a second," Roger instructed. John couldn’t help the gasp escaping him as he watched Brian fumble, momentarily pulling out, aligning a second finger. John whimpered at the sudden loss of Roger’s finger, who was mirroring Brian’s every move.

 

His eyelids fluttered as Roger sank two fingers into him, perfectly timed with Brian’s own, and there was probably a quip about Roger’s impeccable timing in there, but John was too lost into _feeling_ , so only a soft grunt escaped him.

 

"How’s it feel, Brimi?" Roger spoke up, and maybe John was imagining it, but he sounded just a bit breathless. "How does it feel fucking yourself with those long fingers while we watch you?" John watched as Brian twitched violently at the pure filth spilling over Roger’s lips, watched as he arched his back off the bed, all but _presenting_ himself to them.

 

"I – I don’t know –" Brian stammered, words slightly slurred. "It’s – different?"

 

Roger hummed. "Good different?"

 

Brian hesitated for a moment. "Just – weird?"

 

"Alright," Roger said thoughtfully. "Twist your wrist – like _this_ –"

 

John mewled, unbidden, arching into Roger’s fingers inside him – fuck, he was so _close_ , just –

 

"– And then curl your fingers, just so –"

 

John saw white, no sound escaping his working throat as Roger stroked over his prostate, demonstrating to Brian how to finger himself _on John_. Then Brian whined, clearly having found his prostate, and John forced to keep his eyes open to watch Brian’s beautiful, long fingers disappear into himself, last of the lingering consciousness melting off him, pleasure taking over.

 

John had rarely seen a sight so lovely.

 

"You’re so gorgeous like this," Roger said softly, almost a purr, echoing John’s thoughts. "You _both_ are." And didn’t _that_ make John preen. "How’s it feel now, Bri?"

 

Brian’s throat worked. "G – good," he sighed out, thighs trembling.

 

Roger hummed again. "You wet enough for us, love? Open enough for more?"

 

" _Please_ –" Brian babbled, choking, tossing his head back, unsure what he was begging for.

 

John turned from Brian to watch Roger lick his lips, zeroed on Brian. "Alright, sweetheart," he said. "I think you’re ready for a third one," and he didn’t sound quite as nonchalant anymore. John felt a third finger circle his hole, watched as Brian pulled out only long enough to line a third finger up with the others before he plunged right back in.

 

John scrabbled for a better hold as Roger mirrored Brian’s every move, fingers curling instantly to find his prostate again, the additional stretch pressing deliciously all around inside him. His eyes fell shut, and he buried his face into Roger’s neck, inhaling the scent of soap and leather and cigarette smoke, letting it ground him, too dazed to do anything else but losing himself into his senses.

 

He heard the soft, breathy little gasps Brian made whenever he must’ve twisted his fingers just right, could smell the thickening arousal in the room, could feel Roger against him, warm, steady, clever fingers eliciting sparks of scorching desire with every little stroke. He felt Roger, rock hard by now, subtly grinding against him as Brian’s noises began to slowly rise in pitch and frequency. Then Roger gently pulled his fingers out of him, and John almost sobbed, a needy whine escaping him.

 

"Hush," Roger muttered tenderly into John’s cheek. "Bri, love," he spoke up, and John finally lifted his head to look at Brian.

 

 _Christ_ , but the noises he’d heard hadn’t done Brian justice compared of how he looked; pale skin reddened, chest glistening and heaving, most of his curls plastered to his head and neck as he looked at Roger.

 

"You did good, _so_ good, Bri," Roger praised, and Brian’s cock twitched at the praise. "But I need you to take those lovely fingers out of yourself, now."

 

Brian, apparently reduced to his most base instincts, _whined_. Roger didn’t miss a beat.

 

"I promised I’d fuck you into outer space, didn’t I? Can’t do that if you still got your fingers in there." Brian shifted under Roger’s heated gaze, before he acquiesced, slowly pulling his fingers free with an obscene squelch.

 

John felt his own cock, neglected and leaking, twitch at the sight of Brian, all open and wet and ready. Roger chuckled, shifting John around, until he was straddling him, before Roger gave him a little push.

 

John got the hint and stumbled on his feet, feeling like a newborn calf on awkward new legs, but Roger was at his back a second later, steadying him. Where Roger had felt pleasantly warm before he was now a wall of heat plastered against his back, and John moaned softly.

 

"Alright, John, sweetheart," Roger said, voice rough, hands settling on his hips. "Let’s get you comfortable, yeah?" John nodded, let himself be guided the few steps to the bed, relished in Roger’s firm grip on his hip, hot breath tickling his neck. Reaching the bed, he let himself fall onto Brian, barely remembering to brace himself as to not crush Brian completely.

 

The feel of Brian’s sweaty skin gliding against his own was like coming home, their bodies slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. He sighed, arms winding around Brian’s middle as Brian slung his arms around John’s neck, dragging him close as John slotted himself neatly between Brian’s spread legs, giving Brian enough leverage to drag his legs up and around John’s waist, bending almost in half.

 

Brian gasped when their cocks brushed together, and John felt his toes curl at the slide of Brian’s wet cock against his own, swallowed down Brian’s answering moan with a messy, open mouthed kiss, feeling drunk and already way, _way_ too close.

 

A warm hand trailed up his spine, and John felt a faint shiver following it.

 

"God, do you two even have any idea what kind of picture you make?"

 

Roger sounded wrecked, his voice raspier than John had ever heard it, tone strangled. John broke his and Brian’s kiss, turning to look at Roger behind him. From what John saw from him over his shoulder, Roger had stripped in record time – though John was honest enough to admit that maybe he’d spent more time than he felt had passed kissing Brian silly.

 

Brian’s breathless laugh tickled his cheek. "Are you going to do something about it, Rog?" Roger’s eyes grew dark, trailing up further John’s spine, and John could feel the heat emitting from his body, and between him and Brian, John craved for more.

 

"Oh, I’m going to fuck you, Bri," Roger said, fingers curling around the hair curling on John’s neck. John felt a faint pang of regret for cutting his long hair off all those years ago, shivered when he imagined how good Roger’s hand would feel tugging through the long locks of hair. "I’m going to fuck _both_ of you hard enough you won’t need a telescope to see stars."

 

Brian gasped, and while John couldn’t _see_ , he could feel Roger move behind him, could feel Brian under him _quiver_.

 

"So wet for me, Bri," Roger said, sounding pleased. "All open and ready for me, are you?" John felt Brian’s cock twitch against his own, watched as Brian’s pupils dilated before his eyes fluttered shut, neck arched invitingly. John leant down to mouth at it. The hand on his neck left, and then Roger was pulling at his hips and legs.

 

"Mhwhat–" John mumbled, confused, dislodging his lips from Brian’s throat.

 

"You need to move up a bit further, Deaky," Roger told him. "’s not gonna be the most comfortable position, but you gotta move up so I can fuck you both, unless you want to move off Brian–" both John and Brian made a noise of protest. "Thought so," Roger chuckled. "C’mon, love," he said, maneuvering John by his hips, pushing him forward. John moaned weakly at the additional friction from Brian’s cock along his, delicious and torturously slow. Brian’s legs were bent at a sharp angle, winding along John’s sides, kept in place by John’s legs and weight. John’s cock was now dragging over Brian’s belly than his cock.

 

Roger shifted, shuffling closer until he was snug along John’s arse, and John could feel the head of Roger’s pretty cock drag over his hole. He whimpered.

 

Roger just chuckled, replacing the delicious feel of his cock against John’s hole by teasing fingers. "Choices, choices," he mumbled, sounding both amused and awed. John grunted, feeling of impatience growing. "But Brian prepared himself so well, I think –"

 

Brian’s eyes flew open as Roger trailed off, mouth hanging open, and then Brian moved underneath him, and it took John a blink of an eye to realize, that Brian _was being moved_.

 

 _By Roger_.

 

Roger was slowly fucking into Brian, hands firm on John’s hips, and John could feel the languid power behind the first thrusts, Brian panting into his collarbone, and John felt faint, a shuddering sigh escaping him.

 

"Bri," John mumbled. "How’s – how’s he feel?" John was burning to know. So many different sensations were warring within him, and John didn’t know what he wanted – he wanted to feel Brian around him, he wanted Brian around him, he wanted –

 

 _He needed_ –

 

Fingers slipped inside him, rough, calloused, _and just right_. John’s head dropped into Brian’s hair. "Good – _amazing_ ," Brian replied belatedly, voice hoarse and eyes closed again.

 

"Glad to hear it," Roger grunted. "Bri," he began, breathing erratically, a contrast to his smooth thrusts. "I’m – I’m gonna let go of you a bit –" Brian made an unhappy noise. "Yeah, but you can watch Deaky while I fuck him."

 

" _Yes_ ," John moaned immediately, not caring if it had come out embarrassingly fast, only caring about Brian’s arms around him, Brian’s cock rubbing under his balls, Roger’s strong hands on his hips, dragging him back a bit, Roger’s cock pressing against his entrance –

 

"Jesus," he heard Roger breathe, strangled, but John was only dimly aware of it, the feel of Roger’s cock slowly sliding inside him divine; the only thing he managed to clearly focus on. Brian’s arms tightened around his neck, dragging him down a bit, before licking into his mouth messily, desperately, _hungrily_.

 

Roger allowed him a few breaths of getting used to the feel of him, and _fuck_ , but John had never imagined that after Brian, after having Brian’s cock inside him, anyone else would feel so good.

 

So _right_.

 

As Roger slowly began rocking into him, John briefly felt the urge to apologize to any past lovers of Roger he and the others had made fun of for being so goddamn _loud_ – John understood, felt the noises leave his mouth without meaning to – because Roger might not have the biggest cock John had ever had, but _fucking hell_ did he know how to use it.

 

Brian’s attempt of a kiss was now more John gasping loud moans into Brian’s mouth than a proper kiss, but he was sure Brian forgave him, as he looked rather out of it himself, drool dribbling down his chin. John leant down to lick it off.

 

"God, _fuck_ ," Roger grunted behind him, hips briefly stuttering, and John realized dazedly he must have seen John licking up Brian’s spit, but then Roger shifted and found a new angle, and the thought flew out of the window as Roger hit his prostate. "You two are a goddamn sight to behold," Roger told them. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking _filthy_ , I could fuck you all day, every day, keep you leashed on this bed, desperate for it."

 

A frustrated sob escaped Brian, making Roger huff in amusement, before John felt him move, pulling out of Joh slowly.

 

John mewled, clenching around the sudden emptiness unhappily. The hands on his hips gently moved him forward a bit, and the emptiness was quickly replaced with clever, teasing fingers, and then Brian gave a content sigh as Roger slid inside him. This time, John felt Brian pushing back on Roger’s cock, thighs trembling against John’s. John watched him bite his lip and realized that Brian must be close, little sighs escaping him with each of Roger’s powerful thrusts, and all John could do was shift so he was stroking Brian’s side in comfort, too overwhelmed by the tickle of Roger’s skin behind him, the sound of Roger’s hips slapping against Brian, Brian whimpering drowsily into John’s ears. John bent down and buried his face into Brian’s curls, mouthing at the shell of Brian’s ear, rutting into Brian’s flat stomach as much as he was able, desperate for relief.

 

He shuddered when soft hair tickled along his shoulder suddenly, joined by dry lips between his shoulders.

 

"’s alright, Deaky-love," Roger muttered gently. John felt like he was drowning, just a bit, but pleasantly so; Brian was pliant under him, little gasps of pleasure rising in pitch, soft and yielding despite his sharp angles and skinny frame – Roger was doing a fantastic job of fucking him into submission. Roger was hard and fast behind him, not exactly unyielding, but just the right amount of rough, of biting – _literally_ , John thought with a small gasp as Roger mouthed at his shoulder.

 

Sandwiched between Brian and Roger, John felt a swell of something (not just his cock, thank you very much), but something warm and tight expanding in his chest, stealing his breath.

 

Barely noticeable, Roger changed his pace slightly, and instead of the shallow, quick strokes, he shifted deeper into Brian, slightly slower.The change was rewarding, if the drawn-out groan Brian breathed into John’s chest.

 

"Almost there," Roger grunted above them, and fuck, but John loved it, loved how he was at Roger’s mercy for this, same as Brian. Below him, Brian looked stunning, coming undone on Roger’s cock and John reveled in being able to watch Brian like this, without being _responsible_. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but like this, with Roger taking the wheel from both of them, John was able to enjoy Brian in a completely different way, was able to watch him attentively, while still being as close as humanly possible.

 

Brian’s thighs tensed by John’s sides, arms tightening around his neck and his mouth greedily finding John’s again, muffling the noises of pleasure he made by sucking on John’s tongue, and then Roger thrusted into Brian, _hard_ , and Brian surged up, arching into John, twitching violently as he came, hot spurts of come coating John’s balls, his cock, and stomach.

 

John held him through it, clinging to the little self-control he had left and not rutting against Brian too much, letting him ride out his orgasm; Roger was already fucking him steadily through his climax, drawing out wanton noises of pleasure from Brian, which were swallowed by John’s eager mouth.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Brian’s little gasps and twitches slowed down, only shuddering slightly as Roger pulled out of him. Even then, Brian didn’t let go of John, moving from licking into John’s mouth to bury his face into John’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer – at this point, there wasn’t enough space for a flea between them, and John was afraid of crushing Brian. He heaved himself up on trembling arms.

 

"No," Brian croaked, arms winding tighter around John’s neck. " _Stay_. Want to feel you – want to feel him come in you, like this." Brian moved his long legs around John’s waist, tugging him down.

 

"Bri –" John said, amused.

 

" _Please_ ," Brian mumbled. "I can feel you like this, can feel Rog in you like this, can feel _everything_."

 

Whatever John had wanted to say prior died on his tongue, but Roger didn’t seem to have that kind of problem. " _That_ I can do," Roger chuckled from behind him, and the hands on his hips moved John backwards, the slide of Brian’s softening cock delicious and torturous again John’s. He choked down a whimper. Brian cooed softly into the side of his face, petting his hair. "Like it, do you, Bri?" Roger continued, and while his words were teasing, his tone was tender. "Love it when you can be used like this, hm? When you can feel what we’re doing to you?"

 

A low whine filtered through the room, and a moment later John realized it was _him_ that had made the noise. Fuck, but he was about to fucking _burst_.

 

"Roger," he begged. "I – I need –"

 

Hands trailed from his hips up his spine, and back down. " _Hush_ , sweetheart," Roger breathed, chest plastered to John’s back, breath searing at the back of his neck. "I know what you need."

 

John was suddenly feeling fragile, and it was only thanks to Brian’s comforting, familiar frame, and Roger’s warmth at his back, both cocooning him, that he didn’t outright sob.

 

"Please," he said.

 

Calloused fingertips dipped briefly into him, and John was about to make a noise of protest, but a blink later the fingers trailed back to their place around John’s hips and Roger’s pretty, fat cock finally sank into him again.

 

John moaned appreciatively, moving his hips backwards to meet Roger’s thrusts, but Roger tutted, grip tightening until John knew he would have finger-shaped bruises there by tomorrow.

 

"You’re going to come on my cock only, John," Roger spoke up, shaping the words into the back of John’s neck, voice sultry and dark. "You’re not in charge of when and how, though. I could fuck you for hours still, fuck you till you almost come, then pulling out and finger you, just so it’s not quite enough, making you _beg_ for it." Buried inside him to the hilt, Roger _stopped_.

 

"Rog," John begged, not bothering to hide the sob in his voice.

 

Roger hummed. "I could," he said again. "But if you behave yourself, I won’t."

 

"I – I will, just _please_ , Rog," John said immediately.

 

"Gonna hold still while I fuck you, Deaky?" Roger asked silkily. "Gonna let me take care of you like you need?" John nodded quickly. " _Good_ ," Roger praised, and John couldn’t help the pleasant shiver racing down his back.

 

Finally, Roger moved again, and John could’ve wept. As the pace picked up quickly, John hanging between Roger and Brian, he found a moment to marvel at how _good_ Roger was – he had known _, in theory_ , that he must’ve been, as it had been the reason for this thing in the first time – the man was so fucking talented already, and then he went and did things to John, to Brian, he would’ve never dreamed of.

 

And curse Brian’s long legs, because despite being at a disadvantage from his position under both of them, he managed to tug one leg free from between Roger and John, snaking it around both John and Roger, heel of his foot digging into the small of Roger’s back, pulling Roger down, closer to himself.

 

 _Deeper into John_.

 

" _Fuck_ –" John cried, and above him, Roger grunted in surprise, in pleasure, in both. Brian made an amused sound, slightly winded.

 

"Cheeky minx," Roger growled. His fingers flexed where they held on to John. "Wanna feel us, do you, Brimi?" John felt Brian nod.

 

Roger snorted. John felt him shift, and then Roger’s cock brushed right against his prostate. Over the choked off noise, Roger continued talking. "Can you feel that, Bri? Can you feel Deaky shiver and moan, my cock doing that to him, same as it was just in _you_?" Brian moaned softly. John though he felt a smile pressed into his neck, but at that point, any coherency John might’ve had had flown right out of the window. Now with Roger hitting his prostate with every stroke, still steadfast in his rhythm, John couldn’t do anything else but drool into Brian’s skin, feebly panting as Roger thrusted into him rougher, deliciously stroking over his spot with each thrust and John felt the tell-tale tingle of heat gathering in his gut, felt his muscles go taut. Still, he tried to stave it off, for just a few moments longer; he wanted more of this, was almost delirious with the sheer want that he felt.

 

Cool fingers trailed his cheek. "John," Brian said quietly. John blinked, trying to focus his gaze on Brian. He managed somewhat, just in time to see Brian’s eyes flick briefly up to Roger, before refocusing on John. "John, love," Brian said again. John mewled. "Let go," Brian said. John made a soft noise of protest. Couldn’t Brian see he needed more of this?

 

Chapped lips, surprisingly dry, were on his neck, close to his ears. "C’mon, Deaky," Roger mumbled, voice nothing more than a gentle caress. "’s okay, I’ll be with you. I’ll catch you."

 

John locked eyes with Brian again, his eyes dark and burning and full of love. Roger mumbled something else, voice like liquid gold, but John couldn’t hear him anymore, drowning in Brian’s warm eyes.

 

It only took another rough stroke of Roger’s cock and John heard himself cry out, tossing between Brian and Roger, their limbs locked around him, _safe_ , and John let himself _fall_.

 

When he came to himself again, gradually, after what could have been seconds or minutes or a whole lifetime, it was in time for him feel Roger’s even thrusts becoming erratic, losing control, and then John felt him come, shuddered at the stimulation, felt Brian’s arms tighten around him with a pleased sound, felt Roger go taut, breath hot and wet on John’s neck. It was almost too much, Roger’s twitching cock inside him becoming almost unpleasant due to the additional stimulation John was definitely too sensitive for, but he had never felt so fucked out, never felt so full, and still crushed between Roger’s sagging weight and Brian’s hard angles, he’d never felt so _cared for_.

 

John blinked blearily up at Brian, wincing with slight discomfort as Roger got up, pulling out of him gingerly. "Did you feel it?" He asked him. Brian looked down at him in confusion, before grinning.

 

"Yeah," he said, voice still sounding raw. John heard Roger move around, but he was feeling too exhausted to even lift his head. "It was really hot John," Brian continued. "You looked gorgeous on his cock." John hummed.

 

"You were both gorgeous," Roger spoke up, sidling up next to them. He coaxed John gently off Brian. John made an unhappy noise. "I know, he’s comfy right now, but we gotta clean you up," Roger said.

 

"Don’t wanna shower," John grumbled, Brian mumbling in agreement.

 

Roger snorted. "I figured," he said. "Gonna clean you up like this, okay?" Roger was gentle, hands still more than warm, almost sweaty as he gently dragged a cool washcloth, followed by a soft, dry towel over their bodies. "You did both so incredibly well," Roger said after a while, voice hushed, almost awed. "Are you both – I mean," he hesitated. "I might’ve gotten carried away a little, there." He trailed off, absentmindedly stroking John’s neck with the towel.

 

"You were perfect," Brian told him. Roger fidgeted.

 

"Ditto," John said hoarsely. "Now get rid of the damn towel and give us a cuddle. He watched gleefully as the careful expression on Roger’s face vanished, a delighted laugh escaping him.

 

"Yessir," he said cheekily.

 

.

 

John slept soundly that night, with Brian pressed against him and Roger draped over them both, despite Roger and Brian trying to outdo themselves with their snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all still alive?
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> Good, because we have now officially caught up - Chpt 13 is in the works with about 2k as of now, but I'm still compromised, health-wise, and it's taking a good chunk out of my creative energy, so while I do want to update regularly, from now on, I can't promise you guys that anymore, I'm sorry :(. 
> 
> (Also, the other reason is, that I mostly write when I'm at work because the environment is super for writing, and since I've been working reduced due to health issues, I have less time >_<.


	13. Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's warmth everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, fellas! I hope you'll like this one, it's like, SUPER domestic lmao. 
> 
> ALSO YOU GUYS ARE SO AMAZING! Sooooo many comments!!! bookmarks!!! K U D O S!!!! this is now officially my most popular fic, beating the other monster fic from It (2017)!!! I LOVE YOU ALL
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> SPECIAL SHOUTOUT to @tikini, who has AMAZING WORK and who allowed me to kind of borrow an idea from her im form of a slight somnophilia!kink she put in one of her parts of her series "Four Men"! (PLS go read, it's amazing!)
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

Brian was warm.

 

He shifted languidly, and the weight – _person_ – on him clung tighter. It felt vaguely familiar, in the way that Brian knew it wasn’t John. He pried open one eye and was met with soft tufts of golden hair.

 

Roger.

 

Brian’s heart beat faster for a few moments, flashes of last night returning to him. He shifted again, and this time, he felt the soreness in his limbs tickle up his spine.

 

It felt delicious. Brian sighed, contently, _satisfied_ , before the position of Roger’s knee to his crotch made him squirm.

 

Knowing it was useless to try and shake Roger loose when he was clinging in his sleep like that, Brian just turned his head in search of John.

 

His lover was lounging next to them on the bed, head propped up by one hand while he watched Brian’s obvious struggle with mirth dancing in his eyes. He was already dressed in a shirt and comfortable jeans, hair slightly damp, which meant he had to have been up for a while.

 

Brian glared at John imploringly, motioning at Roger who was plastered to Brian’s front like a flesh furnace, drooling onto Brian’s naked chest. John just looked at him, trying his best to smother his snickers.

 

"Deaky," Brian pleaded. "Move him _off_ ," he begged. "He’s like a damn furnace."

 

John hummed. "He looks really good on you, though," he teased. Brian sighed. It looked like he was to remain in his predicament. "I don’t know, just push him off?" John shrugged. "He sleeps like the dead anyway."

 

That was true; Roger could sleep through almost anything, even Brian shredding a solo on his Old Lady while plugged in (they had tried). However, the problem wasn’t that Brian was afraid Roger would wake up from the noise, but rather, from being grabbed – Roger had wound one arm tightly around Brian, and only brute force would get him to release Brian. John knew that. Somehow having been able to dislodge Roger from himself, he was now thoroughly enjoying the view.

 

Roger looked peaceful, warm and naked against Brian, a light flush decorating his cheeks. Brian made an affronted noise on Roger’s behalf. It would be a shame to disturb a sight like that.

 

"Then suffer," John told him, but the flippant tone was undermined by John softly gazing down at Roger, and even going as far as adjusting the blanked trapped around his waist.

 

"John," Brian huffed. John just continued to look on in amusement. "He’s _warm_ ," he tried to emphasize. Really, Roger felt like a small volcano about to erupt, and while Brian did like the feeling of Roger wrapped around him, sweat started to pool uncomfortably between their joined bodies, and Brian wanted _out_. Brian didn’t remember Roger as being so toasty, and Roger had been very tactile in their early days, and always warm.

 

"He’s going to be fussy if you toss him off," John said, absentmindedly trailing a feather-light touch up and down Roger’s spine. "Especially considering last night’s – ah, performance," John smirked. Brian appraised him with a raised eyebrow.

 

"You know," he hummed. "It’s a real travesty that I haven’t gotten a good morning kiss from my lover."

 

John huffed out a quiet laugh. "Oh, absolutely. Doesn’t appreciate you at all, does he?"

 

"No," Brian said, exaggerating a pout. "I should fire him."

 

John’s eyes glinted dangerously, and he shifted closer, so Roger was partially sandwiched between them as he leaned over him and Brian. "I don’t think your lover would like that very much," he breathed, face just inches away from Brian’s.

 

"Yeah?" Brian hummed in a whisper. "Then maybe he should do something about it." No sooner than he said it, John bent down and heatedly pressed his lips against Brian’s, immediately prying his lips apart, deepening their kiss. Brian sighed contently, feeling pliant under Roger and John, reminiscent from last night.

 

Speaking of, John had all but moved on top of Brian, moving closer, which meant that Roger was all but squished between them – not that he seemed to notice, still asleep judging by the even breaths Brian felt against his chest. John’s hands had wandered, one winding into Brian’s hair and the other settling on his waist as John continued fucking his mouth with his own, and it wasn’t long until Brian felt his cock stir in lazy interest, pressing into Roger’s leg. He gasped, tearing himself away from John’s searing mouth, feeling dizzy.

 

He watched John swallow, ducking his head to nose at Brian’s jawline, before briefly nuzzling Roger’s mop of messy hair. "Good?" He asked Brian, and his voice was already starting to sound raw. Brian shivered.

 

"Mh," he said softly. "Would feel even better if I could get my hands on your cock, though," he continued, looking pointedly at Roger.

 

John groaned, partly in annoyance, but mostly with desire. "Bri, if we move him, he’ll definitely wake up and he’ll be awful to deal with for the rest of the day," John pointed out, and – Brian huffed, because Roger really _was_ awful when he was woken up too early, proven by various objects, mostly TV’s, flying out of unsuspecting windows throughout the years.

 

"Well, your cock isn’t going to suck itself," Brian said petulantly. John choked, arms briefly wobbling, almost falling on Roger and him. Brian hummed thoughtfully. "Of course," he began slowly, testing out the half-formed idea on his tongue. "We could –" he snaked an arm around Roger and grabbed at Johns waist, pulling him down. He wheezed at the additional weight, legs hopelessly trapped now, but the pressure John’s additional weight provided might just be enough to –

 

He experimentally rolled his hips upwards, gasping at the delicious friction.

 

"Fucking hell," John muttered, breathlessly.

 

"John," Brian pleaded, tugging at his waist, and John nodded, more to himself, and carefully rutted into Roger – and consequently, into Brian. Brian threw his head back, soft moan escaping him. He let go of John’s waist, who quickly found a rhythm – a careful, gentle one, still mindful of their sleeping drummer in between them, but the motion carried nonetheless as John got bolder. Brian, for lack of anything else to hold on, cradled Roger’s head, fingers entwining with soft golden hair as he tried to match John’s pace, but ultimately, found he couldn’t quite follow, too lost in the sensation of two bodies rocking into him, one pliant and sleep-warm, the other forceful and _intent_.

 

"Bri," John grunted. "Bri, love, you have the best ideas –" John cut off with a moan at an especially forceful thrust. "He looks so good on you," he continued, repeating his words from earlier, tinted with awe. "Looks so good under me, he’d be so pretty under _you_ –"

 

Brian couldn’t help the quiet moan escaping him. Unbidden, a vision of Roger rose in his mind, looking much the same as he did that night he’d finally allowed them to touch him, all soft and whimpery and desperate – desperate for John’s hands, John’s mouth, John’s _cock_. Then John’s words caught up with him, and Brian imagined Roger, on Brian’s fingers, imagined how he’d look bouncing on his cock, imagined how Roger would feel under him, coming undone, beautiful voice climbing higher to the edge of his slowly fading falsetto, asking – no, _begging_ Brian for more, _harder_ –

 

"The _fuck_ ," Roger’s voice rang out, sounding sleepy and confused. Brian chanced a look down at Roger, who was watching him intently through bleary, sleep-drunk eyes, an amused quirk to his lips. John’s hips stuttered, and Brian bit back another moan as the motion drove Roger’s thigh closer to Brian’s cock.

 

Roger moaned softly. "Are you fucking wankers using me to get off?" he asked, somewhat breathlessly. He didn’t sound particularly upset, but John still slowed his movements, and Brian could see a flash of guilt on John’s face.

 

"I – _ah!_ – I’m sorry, Rog," John gasped. "It’s just – you were clinging to Brian in your sleep, and –" John trailed off, biting his lip.

 

"And you thought ‘might as well use poor Roger as a humping pillow’," Roger finished, voice dry. Now Brian began to feel tickles of guilt rising, replacing the delicious heat in his gut with dread. When John made to get up, however, Roger clucked his tongue impatiently. "Didn’t say you had to stop, did I?"

 

"Rog, we don’t have to –" Brian said hesitantly, and Roger snorted.

 

"Well, I can tell that you’re both very close," Roger said, hips gyrating in between them. Brian shuddered, and he heard John grunt. It didn’t help that Roger was completely naked between them, as was Brian, and Brian felt like he was melting wherever their skin was touching. Roger pressed himself fully into Brian. "You can," he said, blue eyes dark as he gazed up at Brian, before he turned to John. "Use me, that is."

 

"Oh, fucking _hell_ ," John moaned immediately. Brian eyes went wide, looking at Roger, who looked like he hadn’t one single care in the world, squished between him and John. It was all the permission John needed, and he picked up the pace immediately where he had left off. He dragged Roger closer to him, one hand firmly on Roger’s hip, the other on Brian’s, holding them both firmly in place as he rutted into Roger. Brian heard himself as if through water, gasping out little needy sighs, fighting to keep his eyes open, but ultimately losing. Their position should have been uncomfortable, both bodies weighing on him like that, but Brian felt pleasantly warm all over, whole body tingling with raw pleasure, leisurely and comforting. The grip on his hip fell away briefly, and he heard John frantically fumble with his trousers, before cursing.

 

"Serves you right, wearing clothes this early," Brian told him cheerfully, if breathlessly. Roger laughed into his collarbone, but it quickly changed into a drawn-out moan.

 

"That’s so good," Roger babbled, voice rough. "Deaky, _fuck_ , you were so blessed with that cock, you don’t even _know_." Brian couldn’t _see_ what John was doing exactly, but he could very well imagine; John’s heavy cock dragging itself over Roger’s pert little arse, tip dipping between the cheeks, smearing pre-come all over his hole.

 

Brian’s cock twitched, making Roger moan again. John leant over them, bringing his face close to Brian’s. "Brian," John whispered. Brian stared at him, taking in the flushed face and dark eyes. From his periphery, he saw Roger blinking up at them with something like anticipation, occasionally breathing out kittenish little whimpers when John ground into him.

 

Not able to take it any longer, Brian surged up and kissed John open-mouthedly, as filthy as he could. They were all pressed impossibly close now, Roger all but disappearing between them – not that he seemed to mind; moaning appreciatively as John fervently ground into him, mouth moving from Brian’s collarbone to such at Brian’s nipple teasingly.

 

Brian whined into their kiss, and John took the opportunity to suck on Brian’s tongue. He almost sobbed, he was so, _so_ fucking close, he just needed –

 

The thigh that had been pressed to his cock began to move, tiny motions, Roger applying just the right amount of pressure that had Brian arch his back into it.

 

"That’s it," John murmured encouragingly. "Come for us, Bri."

 

Unable to do anything else, Brian gave in to the toe-curling pressure, spurts of come coating Roger’s hip and thigh, dribbling slowly onto Brian’s bare skin as well. Roger hummed contently, pressing a fluttering kiss to Brian’s sternum, and in his lust-filled daze, still twitching against him through the after-shocks, Brian found it almost impossibly hard not to drag Roger up for –

 

As if he’d read his thoughts, John was hovering only inches over him again, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, lacking most of the heat of before, tender and comforting. Brian felt himself sink completely into the mattress, pliant and content. It wasn’t long until John broke the kiss, leaving Brian bereft, as he started up his thrusts again, this time more urgent, more frenzied than before.

 

"Yeah," Roger panted, voice barely more than a croak. "C’mon, Deaky-love, ‘s so good like that." John grunted in reply, and Brian could feel the force of his thrusts, the eager little pants Roger made against his chest, and if he hadn’t felt so warm and content, eyes halfway shut, he’d be hard again in a matter of minutes. Roger gasped after an especially forceful thrust. "Baby," Roger said lowly, and the nickname made John moan prettily, surprised. It was a new pet name, one Roger hadn’t used before, and he had been very generous with them. Brian figured it was how Roger was with all of his lovers, giving and affectionate. "Deaky," Roger said sounding just this side of mischievous, despite the breathlessness in his voice. "Want you to come on me, _baby_ ," he all but begged. John made a noise Brian had never heard before from him. "Can you?" Roger continued. "Can you make me drip with it, mark me up?" Fuck, but Roger had such a filthy mouth – one day, Brian was going to _gag_ him.

 

The words were too much for John, who half-sobbed, half-gasped, before his hips stuttered coming all over Roger’s backside. Roger arched into it, and when Brian chanced a look at him, he looked sated, eyes fluttered shut. John slumped over him, briefly mouthing at his neck, before he rolled off of them both, still panting heavily. Roger stretched, draping himself closer over Brian.

 

"Rog," Brian grunted. "You’re like a damn furnace – get _off_."

 

Roger made an unhappy noise, but slid off of him, in the space between him and John, rolling over his back. Brian breathed a sigh of relief at the chance of cooling down a bit. "That doesn’t sound like a bad idea," Roger purred, and when Brian looked at him, he had already his cock still in hand, pumping it lazily.

 

　

John hummed, reaching over, hand trailing from Roger’s side toward his groin. "In fact," John continued for Roger. "You always have the _best_ ideas." Roger moaned softly, head falling back; John had batted Roger’s own hand away and wrapped a hand firmly around Roger’s cock.

 

The sight of John’s beautiful fingers wrapped around Roger’s pretty, fat cock had Brian salivating.

 

"John," Roger whined. "’s too early," he said, but it didn’t sound convincing.

 

John laughed lowly. "I could stop," he said, nonchalant. "But I want to show you how thankful I am for last night. Can I?"

 

Brian watched as Roger shuddered, head falling back with a breathless sigh. In the soft twilight, Roger looked warm and inviting, sheets tangled around his legs as he arched into John’s touch. There was an urge clawing up Brian’s throat, almost choking him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t name the source of it; he only knew that the sight before him, Roger, still kind of sleepy, looking content, squeezed between John and him was one that would burn himself into his brain for a long time.

 

John leant over, mouthing at Roger’s neck, murmuring something Brian couldn’t hear, but had Roger keen softly. He shifted closer as well, content to stroke over the soft hair trailing from Roger’s navel downwards, making Roger shiver slightly, before he scooted further down. John looked up, mouth wet from where he’d been sucking a mark into Roger’s neck, watching him curiously. Brian moved himself between Roger’s legs, wrapping his arms around his thighs to keep him in place, inching closer Roger’s cock. Roger was watching him wide-eyed, looking awed. John was watching him with the same curiosity from before, making to remove his hand from Roger. Brian quickly shook his head.

 

"Leave it," Brian told John. "Keep him firm, I want him to feel us both."

 

"Holy fuck," Roger breathed. There was an amused curl to John’s lips and he inclined his head, tightening his hold around the base of Roger’s cock again, making Roger twitch slightly. Without further ado, Brian leant over, and swallowed Roger’s cock. Roger surged up, making a noise between a shriek and a hiss, but John pushed him down again, clucking his tongue.

 

"Stay still," John ordered, and Brian felt him squeeze around Roger. Unperturbed, Brian continued, pulling back until he was only suckling on the head.

 

"Fuck," Roger whispered, eyes squeezed shut. John hummed, fingers briefly flexing around Roger, while the other hand, still pushing lightly down on Roger’s chest, moved, John’s elegant fingers tweaking one of Roger’s nipple. Roger tossed his head back, his own fingers tangling in the sheets in search of purchase. Brian moved off Roger’s cock, licking slowly down, past John’s fingers to Roger’s balls, suckling on them.

 

Roger made a sound like all breath had just been punched out of him, so Brian did it again.

 

John chuckled lowly as Roger squirmed, squeezing again. " _Oh_ ," Roger said, voice wrecked, almost a sob. "Brian, Bri, _Brimi_ ," he continued, eyelashes fluttering. "I can’t – ’m not gonna last – fuck, _fuck_ , _your mouth_ –" he wailed the last bit as Brian pulled off his balls and swallowed him down again, humming around Roger.

 

"Then don’t," John said quietly, thumbing along Roger’s cock almost tenderly, briefly brushing over Brian’s lips as he did. Roger huffed, but it was a breathless, desperate sound. John bent down until his and Roger’s faces were so close their noses were brushing, and Brian almost let Roger’s cock fall out of his mouth in surprise, because, was John going to –? But then Roger looked almost apprehensive, and John stayed where he was. "Come for us," John breathed, and they were so close Brian was sure Roger could _taste_ the words. Roger arched up slightly, a needy whimper escaping him, and it only took Brian flicking his tongue over his slit before he came, keening softly as he trembled. Brian kept a firm lock on Roger’s cock until he was utterly spent, sagging into their mattress.

 

"Don’t swallow, Bri," John spoke suddenly, moving away from Roger. Brian blinked at him, sitting up a bit. John leant closer, cradling Brian’s chin and tipping his head up, before he kissed him, openmouthed, demanding, _filthy_.

 

John wanted to taste Roger like this, and Brian wasn’t about to stop him, eager to let John have it.

 

A soft noise came from Roger, and Brian reluctantly dislodged himself from John, and turned to look at Roger.

 

Roger looked incredibly soft, looking at them with something close to awestruck. "You two are so bloody hot," Roger said.

 

"And you look like a fucking harlot," John told Roger, but it sounded fond. Roger grinned, soft expression falling away as he draped himself over the pillows in an exaggeratedly suggestive manner. Brian swatted his thigh.

 

"You also look like you need a shower," Brian informed him. Roger actually sniffed his armpit, _like a preschooler_ , before he winced.

 

"Guess I do," he muttered. John made a pointed hum. "Oh, shut up, we can’t all be functioning adults all the time," Roger groused. He got up, and Brian couldn’t help but stare as Roger roused out of bed, stretching. Roger noticed, and grinned. "Come on, first one in the shower gets all of the hot water, slow pokes get what’s left." He smacked Brian’s arse playfully before taking off in a mad dash.

 

"It’s _my_ shower," Brian hollered after him, more out of habit than actual indignation. Their days of fighting over the shower in their tiny flat were long gone, and their hot water could last them for hours. Roger answered him with a delighted cackle from the bathroom, and Brian shook his head fondly, John snorting in amusement.

 

"I’ll start breakfast," John said, sliding off the bed. "Try not to flood the bathroom." Brian raised an eyebrow. " _Try_ ," John enunciated. "Love you," he said, pressing a quick peck on Brian’s lips, before making his way downstairs.

 

Brian touched his lips gingerly, still tingling from where John had kissed him, when Roger suddenly called out; "Oi, are you coming or –?" Brian couldn’t help the smile that fought itself onto his face.

 

.

 

"You know, I think you two took longer than Freddie usually does," John said as he handed Roger a plate with scrambled eggs and what looked like half a pig in bacon strips. Brian sighed.

 

"It’s not my fault you guys have like fifteen different bottles for bubble baths," Roger replied, before practically inhaling the food. Brian made a face.

 

"You didn’t have to try them all out at once," Brian said, wincing at the sheer mass of bubbles they had to clean up.

 

"Of course I did," Roger said offhandedly. "I didn’t even know there _were_ fifteen kinds of bubble baths in the first place."

 

"So you had to try them out like the four-year-old you are," John surmised for him, not looking up from his coffee.

 

Roger pointed his fork at John. " _You_ get me." John rolled his eyes, but his eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Besides, now I smell like a citrus-strawberry-cinnamon-mint-rose-aloe- _achoo_!" Roger suddenly sneezed violently, making Brian jump slightly. "Fucking hell," Roger muttered, reaching for a tissue.

 

"You alright?" Brian asked. Roger answered with blowing his nose loudly.

 

Roger waved him off. "Yeah, sure," he said, voice sounding still kind of clogged. John frowned. Reaching out, he settled his palm to Roger’s forehead. "Oi," Roger said, batting his hand away.

 

"You feel kinda hot," John said slowly, still frowning.

 

"That would be because I am," Roger said, grinning. "Why, Deaky-love, you were just thanking me for being so hot not even an hour ago–"

 

"Not like _that_ , you prick," John said, flicking Roger’s forehead. "Are you getting sick?"

 

" _No_ ," Roger said immediately, mulishly. Brian shared a look with John over Roger’s head. No one liked to get sick, of course, but Roger took it to another whole level – back when they still had shared a flat, John once had to sit on Roger, while Freddie had forced a thermometer into his mouth while Roger had trashed and had insisted that he felt _fine_.

 

"Sure," John said drily, getting up to put the kettle on. It likely wasn’t really something yet, because apart from feeling a bit warmer than usual (and that explained nicely why Roger had felt like a furnace earlier), but a cup of tea or five wouldn’t hurt Roger. Amused, he watched as Roger glared at John, who was rummaging around in a cupboard for honey, then glaring at the cup of tea John set in front of him. "I didn’t poison it," John said.

 

"I’m not so sure about that," Roger said dubiously, but he took a sip, immediately making a face.

 

"What," John said, entirely unimpressed.

 

"It’s too sweet," Roger complained.

 

"That would be the honey," Brian answered over John’s snarl. "It’s good for your throat."

 

"When the fuck did I say that my throat hurt?"

 

"Just drink the damn tea," Brian sighed, loudly enough to mostly drown out John’s comment about Roger being more difficult than a toddler.

 

.

 

Having a mostly regular schedule was still strange to Brian – it took him weeks, sometimes months to adjust to not being on tour, and by the time he _had_ , it was usually time for their next tour. John and him had sort of floundered on what to do on their Saturdays and Sundays, because unless one of them called an emergency recording session in (meaning one of them had been struck by inspiration and wanted to get to it ASAP), they were free from any obligations.

 

Brian suspected that that initial change of pace, as well as moving in together, was what had set off their snowball of problems originally, as if slowing down their daily life had slowed _them_ down. They’d finally gotten into the swing of things, enjoying their Saturdays mostly tinkering with something of their own, while Sundays belonged to him and John alone, usually spent in bed. So, by all accounts, Roger hogging Brian’s favorite blanket while getting crumbs all over it, feet thrown over John’s lap while both were yelling at the Saturday morning program on TV should have felt like an intrusion.

 

It didn’t.

 

Instead, Brian found himself weirdly at peace as he joined them, another cup of tea for Roger in hand. He felt settled when they both scooted over to make room for him, Roger taking the cup with a tiny smile while John curled up next to him as he sat down. When Roger draped his legs over both of their laps, settling himself on Brian’s other side, Brian felt a sense of belonging.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs* I want that kinda cozyness too :(
> 
> Okay, as always, tell me what you think ;) I have like, 3 paragraphs of CHPT 14, but literally I got no idea WHEN it will be finished, so bear with me


	14. Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is getting his fill, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck I am so so sorry and I have nothing to say for myself. 
> 
> As an apology for the long wait, this IS a 9k smut chapter. (ENjoy the smut while you can - angst is soon to come)
> 
> ALSO YOU GUYS ARE SO AMAZING! Sooooo many comments!!! bookmarks!!! K U D O S!!!! this is now officially my most popular fic, beating the other monster fic from It (2017)!!! I LOVE YOU ALL
> 
> .
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> SPECIAL SHOUTOUT to @tikini, who was an AMAZING support during these 4 months - you kept me going, hun! This chapter is dedicated to you.
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

“Mh,” Roger sighed into John’s neck, wonderfully warm. “’s getting late.”

 

That got him a low hum from Brian, who was still watching the movie with some interest, unlike John and him, who were all but falling asleep. John was stretched out on the couch, eyes already closed, only the way he breathed giving away he was still somewhat alert to his surroundings. Roger was lying fully on top of John, with a blanket thrown over them both. Brian was seated on an armchair, hair still slightly wet from his shower, looking soft in his pajamas, and _very_ tempting. Roger sighed again; if he wanted to get home, he’d have to call a driver sooner rather than later.

 

With a low groan of displeasure, he disentangled himself from John, and got up unsteadily. John’s mouth twisted unhappily, and he peeked at Roger with one eye. “Come back, ‘s cold,” John slurred.

 

“Can’t, gotta go, Deaks,” Roger said, stumbling out of the living room.

 

“Go where–?“ Brian’s confused voice followed him. Roger ignored him, fiddling with the light switch in the hallway, but just as he reached the phone, there was a hand around his wrist, stopping him from picking it up.

 

“Rog,” Brian enunciated slowly. “Where are you going?”

 

“It’s late,” John added, having appeared behind Brian, fuzzy blanket thrown around his shoulders, looking disgruntled.

 

Roger felt cornered, though he couldn’t quite say _why_ he felt small suddenly. “Exactly,” he nodded. “It’s late, and I should be heading home.” Brian shared a look with John, before he turned to Roger again.

 

“You don’t have to,” Brian said carefully. “We don’t mind – I, _we_ , like having you around.” He bit his lip.

 

Mulling over the words, Roger stayed silent. “I’ve been staying over quite a lot,” he said, looking at them pointedly, not willing to spell it out.

 

John understood him anyway. “You’re not intruding,” he huffed, small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “We’re inviting you to stay, you idiot.” Roger couldn’t help but look over to Brian, who nodded.

 

“But –“

 

“No one is telling you to go,” Brian said softly.

 

His throat felt tight. “Alright,” he nodded. His reply was met with a blinding smile from John, and a relieved one from Brian. “I’ll stay.”

 

.

 

There was a strange buzz under Roger’s skin, keeping him awake, long after they’d gone to bed. Well, him and Brian had; they had to all but carry John back to their room, sleep-drunk as he was. John had immediately attached himself to Roger, sleepiness making him unusually clingy, preventing Roger to scoot to the edge of the bed – he was still a guest after all, and he did want to give Brian and John _some_ space, even if they insisted they didn’t need it, and taking over their bed always felt kind of rude. However, Brian didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he had looked fond when he crawled into bed on Roger’s other side, squashing Roger in the middle.

 

And now Roger couldn’t sleep.

 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired, or uncomfortable, or cold – far from it. Rather, he was too cozy, too comfortable, too _content_. Roger felt like he was intruding on a feeling that didn’t belong to him; this belonged to John and Brian, not John and Brian _and_ _Roger_. It was as if –

 

“ _Please_ stop thinking and sleep,” John mumbled against his collarbone, sounding annoyed and exhausted. “I want to _sleep_.”

 

“Sorry, I –“ he began, a hand on his hip stopping him.

 

“Not tired yet, Rog?” Brian asked, voice like velvet, clearly wide awake. Roger couldn’t help the pleasant shiver racing down his spine.

 

“No, it’s not that, I –“

 

“Hm,” Brian said, hand travelling lower, and Roger choked. “I’m sure I can help you stop thinking.”

 

John snorted next to him, scooting back with an amused huff. “Bri, that was terrible,” he told him, sounding awfully fond. Brian shrugged, pulling Roger closer to him, so that Roger was all but plastered to his front.

 

“What’s happening?” Roger couldn’t help but ask, brain lagging something awful.

 

John grunted. “Brian’s gonna make your brain shut up so we can all go the fuck to sleep.”

 

Brian raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to join, Deaky?”

 

“’m too tired,” John replied, sounding somewhat regretful. “But I’m definitely going to wank off to you two first thing tomorrow.” Brian grinned, something dark and promising behind it, before he turned his full attention to Roger.

 

“So,” Brian mumbled, voice barely a whisper. His hand cupped Roger’s cheek, thumb tracing over his bottom lip. His eyes darted to Roger’s lips, a pinched look appearing, as if –

 

Yearning.

 

Roger felt a stab of guilt.

 

He kissed strangers, and he kissed partners. John and Brian were neither, and their situation was already delicate as it was – kissing added depth to their already intimate arrangement, and Roger figured he had to draw the line _somewhere_. He knew he might be unfair to them, but –

 

Roger darted his tongue out experimentally, tasting Brian’s thumb, internally cheering when Brian’s eyes briefly fluttered shut in pleasure. Roger allowed the finger past his lips, suckling lightly. “Oh, fuck, you utter brat,” Brian moaned.

 

“Roger is very good at being a brat,” John mumbled. When Roger went to shoot him a smirk, John’s eyes were almost closed, but there was an answering smirk on his face just as devious as Roger’s must have been. “You could give him a spanking.” Roger felt his breath hitch, cock twitching against Brian’s thigh.

 

Brian looked absolutely delighted by the prospect, but then shook his head. Roger didn’t know if he felt relief or regret. “Another time,” Brian said softly, eyes hooded and dark as he looked down to Roger. “I don’t want to drag this out tonight.”

 

“You’re sweet,” John said, eyes still only barely open. “Roger, isn’t he nice?”

 

Roger hummed, tongue flat on Brian’s thumb. Brian looked at him as if he was a starving man and only Roger could quench his hunger. Slowly, he began to thrust his thumb deeper into Roger’s mouth.

 

“You should show him how grateful you are,” John said, and despite the sleepy tone, his gaze was sharp under hooded lids, voice firm. Roger raised an eyebrow at him. “You should suck his cock.”

 

Roger gasped, rearing back in surprise at the demanding tone from John. Brian’s fingers fell to his hair, tugging at the unruly strands. “That,” Brian breathed, eyes growing impossibly darker, “is a wonderful idea.” Brian went back to thrusting his thumb into Roger’s mouth. “You have such a pretty mouth, Rog,” he said, staring at Roger’s lips as if hypnotized. “You look so good with your lips wrapped around a cig – I wonder how they look wrapped around my cock.” Roger moaned softly. “How wrecked you’d look after I’ve fucked your face, drooling for more.” Roger began to squirm, but Brian held him firm against himself. “I think you’d like it – you look like you’re made for sucking cock.”

 

“Brian – Brimi,” Roger mumbled softly around Brian’s thumb. He flicked his eyes up to Brian’s hooded, intense ones. “How do you want me?” Brian’s other hand flexed around his hip.

 

“You’re actually perfect for – for this, aren’t you?” Brian said, sounding strangely awed, incredulously so. Roger made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat, smothering the sudden tightness in his chest as best as he could.

 

“Please,” Roger said, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

 

Brian’s eyes roamed over his face for a long moment, before he swallowed, cradling his face with both of his gorgeous hands. “Can I fuck your face, Roger?”

 

A sound between a choke and a laughter escaped Roger. Leave it to Brian to ask something so lewd in such a nice way. “Brian,” he intoned, not one to be outdone. “With such a fantastic cock as yours, you can fuck any hole of mine you want.”

 

Brian choked, eyes wide, face quickly reddening. Roger still got it, apparently.

 

“You’re a menace,” John’s hoarse voice floated over. When Roger looked over, he felt a shiver go down his spine from the intensity of John’s gaze; like a lion staring down his prey.

 

Fuck, but Roger _liked_ how that look made him feel. He sat up, untangling Brian’s hands from his face, straddling Brian’s thighs, their crotches almost touching, but not quite. “Let me taste you,” Roger said lowly, eyes roaming over Brian’s chest, his arms, the delicious happy trail disappearing into Brian’s soft sleep pants, before falling back to his face. On impulse, he reached out, trailing a feather-light touch over Brian’s sharp cheekbones. “I want to taste you, Brian. And then –“ he trailed lower, over Brian’s lips, to his neck, down to his collarbones and then even lower, enjoying every reaction, savoring it. “I’ll let you fuck my face until I’m not gonna remember anything but the taste of your cock.”

 

Brian surged up with a desperate keen, arching into Roger’s light touch, fingers twisting into the sheets.

 

“Deaky can watch,” Roger added in a conversational tone, but he knew the look he gave John was anything but. “He can watch and wish it was his cock using my face. And who knows,” he said, sultry. “Maybe I’ll help him get off tomorrow if I feel like it.”

 

“I’ll make you eat those words,” John told him in a cheerful tone, but Roger could feel his hair standing up from the promise underneath. He turned back to Brian.

 

Brian was looking at him with the same look of wonder than before, hands having left his face to grip at Roger’s hips. Roger leant forward, until their noses were almost touching, and Brian’s breath caught, though he tried to hide it. Instead of what Brian wanted, Roger leant over, and pressed a lingering kiss to his ear.

 

Brian bucked up, a surprised hiss escaping him. It caused their clothed cocks to brush together, making Roger moan into Brian’s ear. He pressed another kiss to the earlobe, then another, until he was peppering it with small, wet kisses. Roger didn’t have to exaggerate the tiny moans at the back of his throat – Brian was delectable; Roger didn’t know if it was because he simply tasted like the best thing he’d ever had or because it was Brian who was moaning under him because of what Roger was doing to him.

 

He trailed small kisses down his throat, reveling in every little hitching breath and flutter of Brian’s eyelashes as Roger slowly took him apart. He paused at Brian’s collarbone for a moment – Brian (or John) weren’t his to mark, but before he could continue, there were fingers trailing down his spine.

 

“Do it,” John said, voice thick. “He wants it, and you want it, and I want to see both of us etched on him.” Brian made a needy sound, and Roger’s own cock twitched; fuck, but the image of Brian littered with hickeys and bites and little bruises from _both_ of them had him sucking at Brian’s skin with renewed vigor, until there where three rapidly purpling marks high on Brian’s shoulder and collarbone, and Brian was writhing under him.

 

Brian’s flushed chest looked inviting, and Roger pressed kisses there too, feeling Brian’s pulse fluttering under his lips like a hummingbird. Roger sighed contently, pressing his cheek close to Brian’s heart for a moment, allowing himself a small breather; it was almost embarrassing how _hard_ he was, just from pressing his lips to Brian’s skin, from Brian’s addictive little sounds, from John’s heavy gaze drilling into his back. The urge to crawl into Brian’s ribcage caught him like a wave, and he gave another trembling sigh, scooting down, before he licked into Brian’s navel.

 

“You’re so gorgeous like this, Bri,” Roger mumbled into Brian’s skin, eliciting a shiver. He shifted, tugging at Brian’s waistband until the tip of his straining cock was free. “And this,” Roger said appreciatively, breath ghosting close over the tip. “This is gorgeous too.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Brian’s hand was in his hair, tugging insistently.

 

“Yeah,” John muttered. “Fuck his face, Bri. I want to see you come down his throat.”

 

Well, who was Roger to say no to that? He let Brian tug his face closer to his cock, but then Brian stilled, looking at him cautiously.

 

Sweet, kind, considerate Brian.

 

Not what Roger wanted right now.

 

“Brimi, love,” he said sweetly, lips purposefully brushing against Brian’s head. Brian twitched. “C’mon, I’m letting you have it.” Roger managed a teasing tone, despite feeling kind of desperate – the things he wanted to do to Brian; the things he wanted Brian to do to _him_.

 

Another hand curled next to Brian’s, where it was tangled in Roger’s hair, making the decision for Brian, guiding Roger down, until his lips were wrapped around the tip of Brian’s gorgeous cock. Roger went with a content sigh.

 

“Look,” John whispered to Brian, and Roger felt him shift closer. “Look how much of a slut he is for this – for _you_.” Brian moaned, fingers tightening in Roger’s hair. _Yes_. Then it was Brian’s hand guiding him down his cock, and Roger –

 

He was good at sucking cock, but Brian was _big_ , and he choked.

 

“Perfect,” John said, and Roger couldn’t be fucked to open his eyes, but he could _hear_ John’s diabolical grin anyway. “He’s so pretty – made for this –“ there was a faint murmur that Roger couldn’t make out, and then a soft, wet sound.

 

Curious, Roger opened his eyes, and felt what little air he still had left in his lungs leave him in a high-pitched whine. John and Brian were kissing, not the sweet, assuring kind he was used to seeing, but something much more visceral and harsh. John in particular was practically fucking into Brian’s mouth, Brian eagerly opening up, and their fingers had tangled into Roger’s hair while he was being steadily guided up and down Brian’s cock.

 

Something hot curled in Roger’s belly as he watched them kiss through his eyelashes.

 

They looked _so_ _good_ together.

A part of Roger wanted to carve himself between their spaces, but he shook the thought off. This right here was good – fantastic, even. He moaned again around Brian’s cock, making Brian shudder and breaking his kiss with John, before he stared down at Roger with a hazed look.

 

“Roger,” Brian rasped. Roger hummed, and he saw John’s eyes crinkle in amusement, before he reached down and traced Roger’s lips.

 

“So pretty,” John murmured, voice full of affection, and Roger blinked at him. “We’re gonna wreck you tonight,” John told him, voice rough.

 

_Please_ , Roger thought.

 

“Please,” Brian said. “Roger, you’re so good, so pretty –“ he gasped into the swirl of Roger’s tongue, dragging Roger further down until Roger was quite literally buried face-first in Brian’s crotch.

 

John’s hand kept him there, and Roger reminded himself to take a shuddering breath through his nose; he swallowed around Brian’s cock a few times, savoring the heavy feel of it on his tongue, _filling_ him, and, oh, _there_ was a thought. He made a soft noise around the cock in his mouth, shuddering as his eyes fell closed again. Fingers brushed his lips, where he was stretched around Brian’s cock, before moving to brush a few hairs from his sweaty face, then trailing over his closed eyelids. The touch was tender, and after Roger managed to focus somewhat, he realized it was John’s strong fingers tracing his face.

 

Then another pair of hands, Brian’s, tugged where they were tangled at the base of his neck, dragging him halfway off, and before Roger could even _breathe_ , Brian’s hips snapped upwards, burying himself deep down Roger’s throat, and Roger’s eyes rolled backwards in pleasure, even as he couldn’t help making a desperate sound. Brian did it again, and again, and when no protest coming from Roger, he grew surer with each time, and between one breath and the next, Brian seemed to lose the last of his reservations, fucking into Roger ruthlessly.

 

Roger surprised himself with how much he loved it; he usually didn’t like to just give up control in this way, but because either it was Brian, or because John was still stroking his face so tenderly, encouragingly, even as he and Brian had returned to lazily making out while Brian was stuffing his cock into Roger’s face, but –

 

Fuck, Roger didn’t think he’d been this hard in _years_.

 

He felt the first telltale pinpricks of tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, unable to stop the needy sound escaping him.

 

“Oh, look,” John said, softly, _mockingly_ , dabbing at the tears with his thumb, his lips brushing Brian’s while speaking. “Looks like we finally found a way to shut him up.”

 

Brian was beyond being able to respond with words, but there was a flash of his incisor, amused.

 

Roger worked his throat and Brian moaned, amused expression turning into something much more primal.

 

_Good_.

 

“Fuck,” Brian hissed. “ _Fuck_ , if you’re still this bratty, you clearly haven’t had enough yet.” He tugged sharply at Roger’s hair and Roger had no choice but follow, new tears springing to his eyes as Brian thrust his cock deeper, and deeper, and deeper, and the onslaught of sensation, of being _used_ like that had Roger lose any coherent thought he might’ve had left until that point. Shivers of pleasure ran up and down his spine, as he took everything Brian was giving him, beyond the point of comprehending the sweet murmurs from John, but reveling in them nonetheless. Roger relished in this moment, in the helplessness that came, in the vulnerability of Brian letting fuck his face, and if he had been able, he would’ve gotten himself off, and when Brian finally came with a shout, Roger couldn’t help the whimper escaping him.

 

There was a tug near the base of his skull. “Wait,” John said lowly. Roger blinked the tears out of his eyes, forcing himself not to swallow, looking at John, who had sat up. “Show me,” John said and fuck, _fuck_ , John’s voice, Roger wanted to swallow that, too. Another tug had him gasping, head following John’s hand backwards, and then John was hovering over him, close, so close, Roger could’ve counted all of his lashes, and Roger was beyond caring now if John was going to kiss him or not, he needed –

 

Fingers brushed over his parted lips, John’s gaze fixed on Roger’s mouth. “Do you like it?” John wondered, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “Being used like this, for our pleasure? Do you like having Brian’s come in your mouth, down your throat, presenting yourself like just a hole to use?” Roger shuddered violently at the words, trying to stay upright – he probably would’ve slumped down if John wasn’t holding the back of his head in a firm grip.

 

“Oh, I think he does – look at him,” Brian croaked from beneath them.

 

“I am looking.” The smile that graced John’s lip was feral, before he dipped two fingers past Roger’s lips, scooping up some of Brian’s come, which Roger was desperately trying not to swallow, looking at it thoughtfully, before wrapping his lips around his own fingers and sucking. Roger watched, helplessly twitching. “Savor it,” John told him, thumb returning to circle Roger’s lip. Roger moaned weakly, and John smirked. “Such a wanton thing, yeah?” Roger nodded eagerly. “I like this version of you.” Roger couldn’t help spreading his legs just a little, and John made a pleased sound. “You can swallow.”

 

“John,” Brian’s amused voice drifted over. “Stop torturing him, he’s ready to combust.” Roger nodded in assent.

 

“Deaky please,” Roger begged, not really knowing what he was begging for in the first place. He just need someone to fucking touch him already.

 

John hummed. “Needy,” he said, tugging at Roger’s ruined shirt. “Desperate,” he continued, fingers trailing lower.

 

“I thought you were too tired?” Brian teased, stretched out below them.

 

“You sound awfully chipper for someone just having gotten their cock sucked phenomenally,” John said tartly, and Roger couldn’t help but preen just a bit at the words. “I changed my mind after – this,” John continued, tugging again at Roger’s hair.

 

“I can suck your cock, Deaky,” Roger croaked out. He paused, before shaking his head. “Please, I want to suck your cock, let me –“ John tugged at his hair _again_ , and Roger shut up.

 

“And who said you’re getting what you want?” John reprimanded. “No,” John said softly after a pause. “I have something else in mind.” He let go of Roger’s hair, and Roger couldn’t help but sag down on the bed, but John’s hands were on him a moment later, turning him to lie face down next to Brian, who stretched his legs gratefully, free from the weight. He lifted one of Roger’s leg to lie halfway over Brian’s torso, trailing one hand up Roger’s leg to his bum. Roger made a happy noise, arching into the touch.

 

“Yeah –“ he said, but he choked on the next word, John smacking his arse gently.

 

“You,” John said, and really, it was all but a command. “You’re going to touch yourself here –“ he took Roger’s hand and guided it back to his arse. “I want you to open yourself while I watch and jerk off to you, and –“ there was a faint rustling of sheets – “I want you to tell Brian how you feel. Can you do that Roger?”

 

Roger was already tugging down his briefs, only as far as absolutely necessary, scrambling to find a position where he could more or less comfortably reach behind himself.

 

“Dry?” Brian mumbled, disapproving.

 

John snorted. “He’s not gonna last long enough to need much, if any lube, Bri.” And, yeah, Roger might’ve taken offense to that, if he hadn’t been already this close. “Later,” John added. “C’mon, Roger,” John said gently, running a hand down his back. Roger gasped slightly as he began teasing a finger over his hole, hyperaware of both John and Brian watching his every move. “Roger,” John said, and he sounded a little breathless. “Talk to us.”

 

Roger whimpered, arching his back. “Fuck, Deaky, Bri, it feels so good,” he got out, drooling a bit on Brian’s chest in the process. “I – ah – I want – want –“ he tried to articulate what he wanted, but his Brain short-circuited when he felt Brian moving to grip one of his arse cheeks tightly.

 

“Oh, I know what you want,” John breathed, and then Roger felt heat covering his back, and then something wet dragging over the small of his back, and Roger could’ve come right then and there if he’d had a hand around his cock.

 

_Fuck,_ fuck _, John was jerking off to him._

 

John moved to hook his chin over Roger’s shoulder, breathing the next words directly into his ear. “I can see how desperate you are for this, Rog, _honey_.” And fuck, fuck it all, that was the first time either had called him any pet name, and it made him want to rip out his lungs and eat them. A gasp left him, and he felt John’s chuckle against his neck.

 

“Deaky, love,” Roger rasped into Brian’s chest. “Are you –“ he shuddered as he _definitely_ felt the drag of John’s balls near his hole. “Fuck, you’re so hot, ‘m so close –“

 

“Are you, now?” John wondered idly, and even breathless as he was, he was teasing. Roger whined. “Hm,” John said, almost licking the words into Roger’s ear. “Can’t have that, yet.” Brian’s hand squeezed his arse again, and there was just the tiniest friction, and Roger moaned. “You’ve kept us up, you know, with your pert little arse wiggling all over this bed,” John continued, and Roger felt a small dribble of come near his fingers. “So we’re going to wreck you until you’re all nice and quiet.”

 

“Fuck, Deaky, _please_ ,” Roger moaned feebly. Brian’s hand landed in his hair, gently petting him.

 

“John’s going to come on you while you touch yourself,” Brian told him, voice too gentle for the lewd words. He shifted slightly, and Roger could feel Brian’s already half-hard cock pressing against his leg, and Jesus, what was with that refractory period? “And when he’s done we’re going to finish opening you up and I’m going to have you ride me until you can’t move and then,” Brian’s fingers were squeezing almost painfully into the flesh of his arse by then. “I’m going to fuck you into this mattress until you taste nothing but me, and John, and how much you’re gagging for it.”

 

Roger wailed, arching up as much as he could between John and Brian pressing close.

 

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” John said through clenched teeth, before he bit down on Roger’s neck, and a moment later hot spurts of come coated Roger’s arse and lower back, a good amount of it finding its way between his own fingers and _inside_. Roger choked on a sob in Brian’s neck.

 

John heaved a content sigh, breath tickling Roger’s neck. “You look really good with my come all over you,” he told Roger. Roger barked out a shaky laugh, and he felt John’s answering grin pressed into his skin, before he pressed a sweet kiss right there. “You good?”

 

A snort escaped Roger. “I’m _horny_ ,” he emphasized, rutting lightly against Brian.

 

“That you are,” John agreed with a laugh. “Tell you what,” he continued, fingers skimming along the rim of his hole. “I’ll get you off before Brian fucks you, _if_ ,” a finger joined his own, probing. Roger whined. “If you can hold out until I’m done with you _after_ Brian.”

 

“God, you randy git,” Roger said, squirming. “You literally _just_ came on me.”

 

“Mhm,” John agreed pleasantly. “But I want to fuck you too.”

 

And, _well_.

 

Who was Roger to say no to two cocks in one night, really?

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Roger said eagerly, stumbling over the words.

 

“Yeah?” John asked, pressing another kiss to his neck. “You sure you’re up for it?”

 

“One way to find out – if you think you can handle me,” he told him cheekily. John nipped at his throat in turn.

 

“Brat,” he said, but it sounded exasperatedly fond. “Alright –“ he scrambled off, leaving Roger’s back exposed to the cold, and he shivered. “Up, c’mon, I want these off,” John told him, tugging at both his sweat-soaked shirt and his ruined underwear. Roger went, albeit grumbling, feeling too boneless. Brian was watching them both with glittering eyes, tracing over the newly exposed skin with hunger. Roger swallowed.

 

Then John’s warm hands were on him again, guiding him down again until he was on all fours, hovering over Brian completely naked. Brian was looking up at him with an open expression.

 

“You’re – you’re really quite gorgeous, Rog,” he told him, hand raising up to trace over his face, his neck, his shoulders, his back. For some reason, Roger’s heart was hammering, lodged into his throat.

 

“The view from here is pretty nice, too,” John added mischievously, and Brian closed his eyes and snorted, Roger snickering along with him.

 

The laugh quickly evolved into a moan as deft fingers, coated with lube this time, teased along his rim, before sinking into him. John quickly established a rhythm, and it didn’t take long too long to find his prostate, calloused fingerpads stroking over it.

 

Roger gasped, eyes fluttering shut as John began to earnestly tease and torment that spot.

 

“You think you can make him come just like this, again?” Brian wondered, looking past Roger at John. John slowed down for a moment.

 

“Probably,” he said, and Roger made an impatient noise. “But I think,” and John’s voice was warm and dark and full of promises and Roger wanted them all. “I think he’s going to be completely useless if I do.” Roger quivered.

 

Brian hummed, and then Roger jolted as elegant fingers wrapped themselves firmly around his cock, pumping half a beat slower than John’s fingers inside him and it was driving Roger completely _crazy_.

 

He trembled, as it took a tremendous amount of effort to keep himself upright; he felt himself leaking, felt Brian’s thumb stroking over the head and gathering it up, and then a third finger joined John’s other two, the stretch delicious and just the right side of almost-painful and then Brian was rolling his balls neatly in his other hand, and Roger’s arms slipped, planting face-first into Brian’s chest. The new angle was even _more_ intense, and John took full advantage of it, reaching deeper and _deeper_ , and it took only a few more strokes and Brian suckling at his shoulder, and Roger came with a sob, hands scrabbling for purchase until they found Brian’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life as John continued to pump his fingers inside him mercilessly, until Roger quite possibly blacked out for a second or two, moaning into Brian’s skin like a wanton whore.

 

After what could’ve been seconds or hours he managed to catch his breath again. Brian was panting quietly into his hair as –

 

Oh, _fuck_ , John was jerking Brian off, murmuring sweet filth into his ear – no, John was getting Brian _ready_.

 

_Ready to fuck Roger._

 

He must’ve made a noise, because they both turned to look at him.

 

“Back with us, Rog?” Brian asked. Roger made a garbled sound that was probably a ‘ _yes’_. Brian laughed softly. “Such a wanton thing, aren’t you?” Roger managed a shrug. “Brian’s finger combed through his hair, and Roger felt himself droop.

 

“Oh, no,” John said, when he noticed. “We’re not even halfway done with you, Roger. Up,” he said, grabbing Roger under his arms and hauling him into a sitting position. Roger’s knees were shaking, and he felt still mostly boneless, leaning back into John.

 

“John,” Roger whined. “’m tired.”

 

John tutted, hands ghosting down on Roger’s sides. “Are you, though?” He wondered, hands wandering lower, one finding his arse again, the other his softening cock. Roger shivered as fingers teased over his hole with a feather-light tough, the other hand caressing over his over-sensitive cock. “Look,” John whispered softly, one finger sinking into him again. “You’re taking me so well, sucking me right in, see?” Roger exhaled stutteringly, nodding helplessly as John added a second finger, sliding in easily with an obscene squelch. “I know you’re ready for Brian’s big cock, hm? Brian’s ready for you, too.” Roger looked down at Brian, who was looking at him with such sheer want that Roger couldn’t help but spread his legs a little further. Brian licked his lips.

 

“Deaks,” Roger croaked. “I – I really wanna, but I don’t – don’t know if I can hold myself up –“

 

Arms draped around his waist, and Roger was suddenly so, _so_ warm as John all but spooned him, shuffling impossibly close. “That’s okay,” John said sweetly into Roger’s neck. “I’ll help you.”

 

Before Roger could say anything to that, John had grabbed him by his hips and shuffled him forwards until he was hovering directly over Brian’s eager cock. Brian’s hands came up to caress over his shaking thighs, moving further up until they reached his hips, lacing his fingers with John’s.

 

“Are you ready, Rog?” Brian asked, voice careful, but Roger could see the underlying desperation.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Just – slowly, ‘s been a while,” he admitted.

 

Brian rubbed a thumb soothingly over his hip. “We’re gonna take care of you, Rog,” he said, oddly solemn. John hummed in agreement.

 

“Alright,” Roger said determinedly. “I’m ready.”

 

Slowly, carefully, they guided him down, Brian’s cock brushing his hole. Roger exhaled, head falling back to lie on John’s shoulder. John pressed a dry kiss on his temple, directing him further down with a look of utmost concentration on his face, and then Brian slid in, and Roger moaned softly at the stretch. Inch by inch the burn increased until it was deliciously painful, almost too much, and yet _not enough_ as they both took their sweet time lowering him on Brian’s cock.

 

Roger’s breath caught as he finally bottomed out, both of their hands firmly holding him in place. Brian’s hands were almost painfully tight around his hips, taut from the effort of holding himself still. When Roger managed to slightly lift his head to look down at him, Brian was biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut. Roger rolled his hips, and Brian’s eyes flew open with a gasp.

 

“Brimi,” Roger said. “I want you to look at me, please.”

 

There was a moment of absolute silence. “Doesn’t he look good like this, Bri?” John broke the silence, voice like molten gold. His hands were suddenly under his arse, gripping the flesh firmly, before he lifted Roger a few inches up on Brian’s cock, spreading Roger wide. Brian made a choked off sound at the back of his throat, while Roger squirmed. “Doesn’t he look like he was made for your cock, joined together like this?” John continued.

 

Roger felt himself flush despite himself. “Fuck, Deaky,” he whined. “You’re so fucking filthy.”

 

“No,” Brian countered, sweaty curls flying everywhere as he shook his head. “It’s beautiful,” he said, eyes lowered to where his cock kept sliding into Roger, John helping along. His eyes flicked to Roger’s. “ _You’re_ beautiful,” he told Roger, as if in awe.

 

Roger whined and tried to hide his flushed face in John’s short curls. John chuckled softly. “Gorgeous,” John added. “You’re incredible, Roger,” he continued, slowly increasing the pace where he was moving Roger up and down Brian’s cock. “Already hard for us again, so open and ready for whatever we give you.” Roger blinked, realizing he was, in fact, growing hard already.

 

He felt so warm.

 

Along with John’s hands, he started moving along with him, the tremble in his thighs slowly subsiding. He leant forward, hands finding leverage on Brian’s chest. John’s hands wandered from his arse to his hips, lower where Brian was holding him, letting Roger move by himself, but holding him in place on some thrusts for a few seconds longer, dragging out the stretch.

 

“John, love,” Brian whispered. “Come here, come _see_ – he’s so beautiful from here. John,” Brian called, begged. John shuddered at Roger’s back, breath hot and heavy against his neck. He pressed a kiss there, before slowly moving away. Roger felt himself shiver at the sudden loss of warmth as John crawled over to lie next to Brian, tucking himself at his side, looking up at Roger. Roger bit his lip as he tossed his head back, to escape both of their intense gazes, instead focusing on the pace, on the rhythm.

 

Roger hadn’t lied – it had been quite a few months, long before their last tour ended, and Brian was big, bigger than –

 

Roger shook his head slightly to rid himself of that train of thought, refocusing on what he was doing, on what he was _feeling_. There was something especially exhilarating about this, getting to ride Brian like this, Brian letting him do this, with John watching, waiting for his turn as he utterly exhausted himself until he was easy pickings for John, and a little moan escaped him, pace momentarily stuttering.

 

Hands squeezed his waist, and Roger looked finally down. Brian’s eyes were blown wide, heartbeat under Roger’s hands quick and hard. John looked almost at peace, lying next to him, but in his eyes there was a look of pure hunger. Roger’s cock twitched.

 

“Tired, Roger?” Brian asked, meeting one of his thrusts with his own, and Roger gasped, head falling back again as Brian hit his prostate.

 

“Almost there,” John mumbled, hand trailing up Roger’s thigh, which was trembling again. “You’ve done so well, Roger,” he added, caressing over his flank. Flushed, he looked down at John, who was looking at him with a soft smile. “You’re so gorgeous like this, I wish you could see yourself.” Roger shook his head slightly, beyond words as Brian met each of his thrusts with increasing force, until he had to hold on to Brian’s arms for dear life. He must’ve looked a mess, he could practically see how red his face was, hair plastered to his skull, famous stamina slowly failing him as Brian hit his prostate again and again.

 

“Deaky,” he whined. “Bri, ‘m close, please –“

 

“Oh, we couldn’t have that, Rog,” Brian said silkily, as John reached out and squeezed the base of his cock – hard. Roger whimpered.

 

“You promised,” John added. “Brian gets you first, and then it’s my turn – or can you come a third time?” Roger shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. He might’ve some other time, but he was too far gone already, everything too intense, _Brian and John being too intense_. Brian’s contemplative hum was his only warning as Brian surged up suddenly, pulling him chest to chest.

 

Roger did _not_ squeak.

 

He heard John chuckle as Brian cradled him, carefully rising to his knees _somehow_ , despite Roger’s weight in his lap, _still seated inside him_. Every tiny movement made Roger gasp soundlessly, desperate little puffs of breath escaping him as Brian rose up, turned them, and lowered Roger onto the mattress seemingly effortlessly. Dazed, Roger blinked, stretching out on the soft mattress, glad for the reprieve his back got.

 

Fingers tenderly pushed his sweaty bangs from his forehead. Roger blinked up blearily at John, who was curling close, tangling his hand with one of Roger’s together as the other continued to brush over Roger’s face.

 

The strangely intimate moment broke when hands were at his hips again pulling him forwards, then his legs were maneuvered up higher around Brian’s waist, Brian leaning over him. Roger opened his mouth, perhaps to say something, but he never found out as a forceful thrust punched the air from his lungs, the new angle torturous, as it hit his prostate almost, but not quite. Roger whimpered and squirmed, Brian chuckling above him.

 

“We can’t have all the fun, Rog,” Brian tutted, somewhat breathlessly. “You’re so nice and wet and open for me, we can’t deprive John from that.” John hummed next to his ear, and Roger really wished he was more coherent for a comeback, but Brian’s pace was relentless, quick and deep strokes just shy of hitting that spot, making Roger drool helplessly.

 

John’s hand which was still tangled with his own, guided him down, brushing against John’s hard cock, already wet at the tip. John leant even closer. “I can barely wait to fuck you, Rog,” he breathed, before biting at Roger’s ear. Roger gave a full body shudder. “I’m going to have you on all fours, and then I’m going to fuck you into this mattress so you’ll feel us for days to come. I’m going to fill you up until you almost burst from both of us, going to fuck Brian’s come and mine deep into you and –“ John was interrupted as he was pulled up by the hair at the back of his neck into a mostly kneeling position, Brian desperately finding his lips and licking inside.

 

Roger didn’t know if he was glad or disappointed that John had been interrupted, but it didn’t matter as he watched through hazy eyes as the other two tried to crawl into the other by kissing, John’s hand around his guiding him to stroke his cock, Brian fucking relentlessly into Roger, who could barely breathe, if someone would just fucking let him touch his cock –

 

His wandering hand was batted away by Brian, who pulled himself away from John just barely, dark eyes staring him down.

 

“Haven’t got enough yet, hm?” Brian said, not waiting for an answer as he pulled Roger flush to his hips, hitching his legs up further, and Roger cried out. If he’d thought Brian was relentless before, he was downright brutal now, pounding into Roger like no tomorrow, and now Roger was sobbing because the head of Brian’s cock brushed over his prostate just right, but he needed more, he was _so close_ –

 

But then John’s hand was at the base of his cock again, squeezing in warning, even as their joined hands still pulled John off, and Roger wanted to call him a hypocrite, he really did, but his tongue was lodged somewhere in his throat, and all he managed was a wheezy sob.

 

“Fuck, you’re such a wanton little thing, aren’t you?” Brian grunted between thrusts, and Roger just nodded, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes. “I’m going to – going to fucking mark you up –“ hands gripped his hips tighter as Brian loomed over him, with a wild look in his eyes that Roger had never seen before. “You belong here, under me, under _us_ , with –“ Brian gasped, eyes squeezing shut, hips stuttering as he came with a low whine, almost a growl, which was immediately swallowed by John’s greedy lips as he let Brian lick into his mouth, until he had ridden out the most of his orgasm, until he sagged, dislodging himself from John’s mouth, all but falling on top of Roger.

 

Matted curls tickled Roger’s neck and cheek as Brian heaved on top of him, hands caressing over his sides, twitching with the occasional aftershock – making Roger hiss quietly. Brian then winded his arms around Roger’s back, bringing them chest to chest, burying his face into the crook of Roger’s neck.

 

Roger felt warm, so, _so_ warm as he was being cradled by Brian as he winded down, breaths evening out. The feel of hot come coating his insides had him sighing contently – he had almost forgotten how good it felt to get fucked like this, with someone who knew him, with someone he could just let _go_.

 

“Bri,” John said, testily. Brian just grunted, refusing to move as John tugged at his hair. “Bri, you can’t fall asleep like this, get the fuck up.” _It’s my turn_ was left unsaid, but clearly heard.

 

Brian heaved himself up on his elbows, looking up at John teasingly. “Can’t I? He could keep my cock warm, until I’m ready to fuck him again later.”

 

Roger made a distressed sound, half pleasure at the idea, half pain because he was getting really, _really_ desperate. John grunted.

 

“We can explore that some other time,” he said, voice choked, and Roger thought that John was into the idea, but at the same time was also impatient to get inside of him. Roger felt, more than saw, John gripping at Brian’s hips, tugging, causing Brian to sigh in displeasure. Roger moaned softly as Brian’s softening cock eventually pulled out, a trickle of come following. He blinked blearily up at them, shivering at the missing warmth from Brian; both were staring at his arse, Brian looking smug, and John –

 

John licked his lips. Roger spread his legs invitingly, way too far gone to feel anything but desire. “Please,” he said, voice hoarse. He managed to heave himself onto his elbows shakingly. “Deaky-love, c’mon, fuck me, need you, want you inside me –“ John’s strong hands on his thighs cut him off, gripping firmly at his flesh. There was something ravenous in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, as he stared at Roger, guiding him up, turning him gently until he was on his knees, John gingerly pressing at his shoulder until his chest and face rested comfortably on the bed.

 

There was a pause, before warm hands cradled his arse, spread him open for appraisal, and Roger could feel some more come dribble down his thigh. Long, slender fingers caressed his spine.

 

“You’re gorgeous, Rog,” Brian sighed, sounding content and sated as he soothed over Roger’s spine. “Doing so well,” he continued, and Roger whined as he felt finally, _finally_ John’s cock nudging at his entrance. “You both look perfect like this, with John’s cock inside you –“ Roger gasped into the pillow as John pushed inside slowly, hands gripping at the sheets. Fuck, John was _so big_ – he tried to shift to adjust to the size, but John was there too, gently covering Roger’s back, hands coming to cradle his own, forcing Roger to let go of the sheets and linking their fingers.

 

“Okay?” John asked softly into his ear. Roger could cry at the gentle way John held him, especially because he could feel the slight tremor in John’s arms and chest, putting every effort into holding still. “Fuck,” John said, more to himself. “Roger, you feel so amazing, so tight, I – I don’t think I’m gonna last too long,” he admitted, still holding himself infuriatingly still.

 

“Deaks,” Roger croaked, turning slightly to look John into the eyes through his hair. “Does it look like _I’m_ gonna last? Fuck me,” he jerked his hips backwards, and John gave a startled moan. “Fuck me like you damn well _mean it_.”

 

John growled into his skin, before biting his neck. “Oh, I mean it, alright,” John said dangerously, and that was all the warning Roger got, before John snapped his hips forwards.

 

Roger _howled_ into the pillow.

 

_Fuck_ , but John was like a damn machine, each stroke precise and forceful, and Roger could do nothing else but to take it, John’s entire body pinning him down effectively as he fucked into him, those few inches a clear advantage like this. Long fingers brushed his hair from his face, Brian looming over him.

 

“Such a turn-on you are,” he said almost reverently. Roger was already beet-red from being fucked, but he was sure Brian could tell the words made him flush, if the tiny smile at the corner of his lips was any indication. “Both of you,” he added, and John breathed a laugh into Roger’s neck, before he was tugged slightly upwards for a sloppy kiss. John broke it soon enough, breath shortening as he returned to his place buried into Roger’s neck.

 

“Roger, _honey_ ,” John mumbled into his skin, and Roger keened at the sweet name. “You’re being so good for us, letting us in like this, letting us have you, all nice and open and lovely,” John said, and Roger felt the telltale heat prickling at the corner of his eyes that had nothing to do with John’s punishing pace, even as he hit his prostate almost every time.

 

Gentle hands wiped the tears away, Brian swimming into view, looking bemused. “You are,” he picked up where John had left off. “I’d have never imagined you to be so pliant, so good for us, Rog.” Roger shuddered, swallowing the whine – not entirely successful. “Oh, you –“ Brian broke off, before he continued to pet his hair. “You’re so sweet like this, taking us so well, I think we could fuck you forever, and you would take everything we gave you and even more, wouldn’t you?” Roger nodded, helplessly at the words that were like balm, and John made a surprised noise, suckling another mark into his neck, before snaking a hand around Roger’s neglected cock. Roger sobbed, trembling as he tried not to buck John off of him.

 

“ _Good boy_ ,” John said softly, pulling at his cock simultaneously, while Brian’s gentle hand continued to comb through his messy hair, and that was all it took; Roger cried out, arching into John, who held him as his orgasm hit, as he shook apart, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembled; John held him through it all, steadily fucking into him, prolonging his peak with steady thrusts, pressing dry kisses to his neck and shoulder, not saying a peep about how Roger must be crushing his fingers, still interlaced.

 

Time returned to normal slowly, and Roger slumped down, completely boneless, only held in place by John’s hips snapping into him. Small, whiny breaths were pressed into his skin as John was getting closer too, Brian murmuring softly to him. Trembling, Roger managed to rise to his elbows, turning to look at John, taking a moment to just look at him in dazed awe; Roger had never been fond of this position, he preferred to see his lovers at all times, and usually he didn’t know the male ones well enough to trust them with this, and even when he did – just, no. But he had never felt so cared for until Brian and John, and he felt something knock loose in his chest; it felt a bit like surrender.

 

He pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, surprisingly chaste. “John,” he said softly. “Sweetheart, come for me.” John nodded, but the pace didn’t change, already frenzied, his face scrunched up. Roger bit his lip. “ _Baby_ ,” he said.

 

John made a sound like someone had punched him, breathless and desperate, teeth latching onto Roger’s shoulder as he came, coming so hard it made Roger’s hole clench in overstimulation as he tried his best to hold still – not that he would’ve gotten far; John held his own hands in a near death grip, holding him down with his weight – with anyone else, this would have felt uncomfortable, would have been unwanted.

 

It didn’t feel that way with John, with Brian. Roger _liked_ that he was able to take what they gave him, that he could catch them like this, too.

 

So he let John take what he needed, what he wanted, almost relishing that it was because of him that John was so lost in pleasure, just as Brian had been before – even this position was _worth it_.

 

Eventually, after what felt like a small eternity, John’s breath evened out, accompanied by Brian’s gentle coaxing. The grip on his hand lessened, thumbs rubbing over skin apologetically. Roger felt John lift off him, hissed when John pulled out carefully, slumping down completely on the soft mattress.

 

He was done. Fuck, but he was _tired_.

 

This time, it was John’s hand carding through his hair, and Roger blinked tiredly up at his worried expression. “Rog, are you still with us?” Roger grunted, shutting his eyes again, missing the look John shared with Brian. He did feel Brian’s longer fingers soothing over his still trembling flank.

 

“We’re gonna need words, Rog,” Brian said firmly. “Are you okay?”

 

Roger sighed, prying his eyes open, looking at them pointedly. “Yeah. I’m just really, really, _really_ fucked out. Good job you two. Gold star. Would get fucked by again.”

 

There was a beat of silence, before a swat landed on his arse – gentle, barely more than a pat, but it still made him squirm; it did nothing to stop the lazy grin from forming. “Rog, we’re serious – that was quite intense,” Brian insisted. “And you’re not moving?”

 

“I’m not moving,” Roger enunciated. “Because _someone_ quite literally fucked me silly.” John snorted, but he looked proud. At least Brian was a sport and tried to hide the smugness. He managed to raise one arm and put his chin into it so he didn’t look quite as dead. “It was a very good, thorough fuck. Definitely Top Five. Maybe even Top Three.”

 

John raised an eyebrow, before the hand that was still resting on his arse from the earlier swat started kneading into the flesh. “Only Top Five?” he asked, voice soft, eyes dark.

 

Roger swallowed. “Maybe Top Three,” he repeated. John hummed, before moving so lightning quick that Roger didn’t even manage to squeak before John had bent down and started lapping up his own come mixed with Brian’s.

 

Roger mewled, trying to wind out from under John, but Brian held him gently in place, and Roger’s only warning was a tickle of curls right at his crack before a second tongue joined John’s.

 

_They were trying to kill him._

 

That was the only explanation as to why they were doing this, to drive him crazy in the best way, and his cock was even trying to get interested again against the sheets.

 

“ _You_ –“ he sobbed, eyes squeezed shut as his back arched. “I can’t take any more, please –“ Brian dislodged himself from Roger’s hole and John’s tongue from that three-way make out with his damn arse with an absolute lewd sound.

 

“Top Three?” Brian teased through Roger’s hitched breath as John sucked at their joint come, _and really, how much was there anyways_?

 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , alright, best fuck of my life, I _swear_ –“ he sobbed. John gave a last, loving lap at his hole, before he finally let up. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he managed after catching his breath.

 

“Ah, but what a way to go, eh, Rog?” Brian laughed. Roger shot them both an unimpressed look, tempered by the blissed out smile. John even had the audacity to lick his lips, chasing the taste.

 

“C’mon, honey,” John said, gripping him by the arms and turning him to the side as Brian clambered off the bed. Everything started to go pleasantly dim as he slowly lost the fight with his dropping eyelids. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little,” he added, and then Roger felt a warm, wet towel dabbing between his legs. He couldn’t help the shudder, because everything was tingly, still oversensitive, even with Brian being as quick as humanly possible, none of the touches sexual anymore, instead just caring.

 

“It’s okay,” he heard Brian say somewhere above him. “Sleep, Rog.”

 

“We’re gonna take care of you.”

 

Roger fell asleep feeling cradled. Safe.

 

_Whole_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uhm.. that happened?


	15. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something brewing on the horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently it takes me 4 months for 8k, but 2 Weeks for 10k - I have no idea how my mind works but apparently I got hit by not one, but several muses, haha.
> 
> .
> 
> @tikini, you're so special and I want to thank you again for your input and letting me bounce off ideas on you - I feel so honored that you love my story so much ♥♥♥♥
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

John came to in the late morning to an empty bed, making him frown instantly. He reached out to the middle, and there was only little warmth still left, meaning Brian and Roger had been up for a bit. Feeling miffed, he was about to burrow himself into the pillows more for another hour of sleep when he heard the faint sound of a breathy laugh drifting over from their shower, dulled by the running water. Raising an eyebrow, he slowly got out of bed, curiosity peaked. He traipsed over to their bathroom, listening to the sounds getting clearer as he approached.

 

He choked on his next breath as he pushed the door open, the sight that greeted him causing his lungs to stop functioning for a hot second.

 

Reminiscent of the night before (and oh, didn’t _that_ memory make John’s cock stir some more), Roger was pushed up against the wet tiles of their large bathtub, Brian pressing him up, Roger’s long legs snaked around his hips and halfway riding Brian, half letting himself get fucked languidly with warm water sluicing down his body.

 

John caught himself following a few droplets downwards from Roger’s collarbones, over his chest, further down, and something trembled in him at the sight.

 

In fact, something about the entire situation made him tremble, but not only in desire (there was plenty of that, though); he felt something cold and almost ugly at the way Brian clung to Roger, sucking another mark right next to one of John’s from last night; he felt his chest squeeze painfully, unpleasantly at the way Roger moaned so, _so_ prettily at the slide from Brian’s cock, Brian answering in kind; he felt frozen to watch, confusing feelings warring inside him as he watched them, rooted to the spot.

 

Then Roger moaned again, eyelashes fluttering open slightly, catching sight of him; he blinked, haze disappearing and then he smiled brilliantly at John.

 

John felt immediately ashamed for feeling so cold, so _possessive_ ( _but of whom?)_ just moments ago, with Roger smiling like that at him, reaching out to him with one hand. Brian slowed down, looking over his shoulder and giving an equally beautiful grin at John.

 

“Deaky,” Roger demanded. “Come over here.” He seemed entirely coherent, despite Brian still fucking into him; in fact, he seemed unbothered, though John was sure he must have been at least _somewhat_ sore from last night. He shook of whatever feeling had gotten over him, and walked over.

 

“You two are insatiable,” he told them as he stepped into the spacious tub next to them, shivering in pleasure at the stream of warm, clean water; no one had gotten into the shower last night, all too exhausted, and getting properly clean now felt like a blessing. He sighed contently as Brian kissed him softly as a greeting, Roger watching them with hooded eyes. John slotted himself behind Brian, hooking his chin over his shoulder as he relished in the micro-expressions Roger made while getting fucked.

 

“Early bird gets the worm,” Brian teased, making Roger roll his eyes, which quickly was accompanied by a soft moan, breath hitching as his back slid over the cold tiles. John reached out to smooth over Roger’s wrinkled brow.

 

“You sure you’re good?” he couldn’t help but ask; Roger had taken quite a pounding from both of them yesterday, the evidence littered all over his body, and only some hours later he was at it again (tough Brian _was_ being as gentle as possible).

 

Roger shot him a sly smile. “I am _very_ good,” he said, thighs flexing demonstratively and Brian snorted fondly. John hummed, slinging his arms around Brian’s waist, knuckles brushing over Roger’s cock. Roger gave another contented sigh, head falling back. Their rhythm was lazy, barely more than a rut. It felt peaceful, gentle, even as John wrapped a hand around Roger’s pretty cock and started pumping in the same pace, even as he felt himself growing hard against Brian’s tiny arse, everything remained unhurried and soft, light streaming from the window painting everything in a soft gold. Both Brian and Roger looked almost ethereal, Roger looking otherworldly as he arched off the wall and came with wide eyes and a quiet gasp, Brian looking equally gorgeous as he spilled into Roger, John kissing the small moans away.

 

Brian remained still for a moment, but Roger started to shift soon enough, high slowly dissipating. Brian let him down, and Roger immediately stretched, bones popping as he winced, before turning to John.

 

“Sorry we started without you,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “But, well, Bri wanted to make sure I was fine and it kinda – evolved?” He shrugged. Brian smirked from where he was busy getting the last of the shampoo out of his hair.

 

“He’s still deliciously loose,” Brian said a-propos of _nothing_ , and John swallowed, looking at Roger. Roger’s sheepish smile evolved into something more devilish.

 

“I believe I told you yesterday–“

 

“–That you would help me get off today.”

 

“I said _maybe_ ,” Roger said, swallowing.

 

John hummed, stepping closer until their chests were touching with every other breath. “So, will you _maybe_ let me fuck your face?” John asked sweetly.

 

“Maybe,” Roger said testily – or tried to; the wide-eyed look that John had to come to associate with _want_ from Roger was giveaway enough. To his surprise, it was Brian who reached out and tugged at Roger’s hair in reprimand.

 

“Be a dear and get on your knees,” he told Roger conversationally. Roger looked from Brian to John, clearly wringing with himself, and John began to wonder if they had went too far, but then Roger slid to his knees in front of John. 

 

“I want you to know that I’m doing it because I haven’t sucked you off yet,” Roger informed him, but John didn’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears at the sight of Roger kneeling in front of him with his legs spread, pretty face turned up.

 

 _Waiting_.

 

He nodded absentmindedly, reaching out to brush his thumb over plump lips, which parted readily, a pink tongue darting out to lap at the presented fingers. John swallowed hard, barely noticing Brian stepping out of the shower with a satisfied smirk, and then he was alone with Roger; the earlier feeling reared its head again, making his fingers twitch as he wanted to grab and hold and keep; made his back shiver as he wanted to run, to call Brian back inside.

 

He did neither of those things. Instead, what left his lips was a croaky; “How hard can I fuck your mouth, honey?”

 

And, _oh_ , he had noticed how Roger seemed to like being called that, almost preening as he blinked up at John.

 

“I can take it,” Roger whispered. “Take what you need.” John hummed, fingers tangling in wet hair, tugging him closer.

 

“Tap my hip if it gets too much,” John told him, barely waiting for the nod, and then he slipped in, Roger’s lips readily parting for his cock. John groaned, felt his balls already tightening from the wet, _perfect_ heat of Roger’s mouth. He leaned over him, bracing himself to the wall with one forearm as he tugged Roger closer on his cock. Roger made a soft sound, like a mewl around his cock, and John hissed, feeling every shift and sound Roger made so intensely, and he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut, fucking steadily into Roger’s pretty mouth.

 

“Rog, honey,” he whispered, prying his eyes open again to look down to him. Roger’s eyes blinked up at him, looking dazed, cheeks red and mouth stretched so, so beautifully around John’s cock it made heat pool low in his gut, pleasure tingling up and down his spine.

 

Fuck, Roger looked perfect like this, like he was made to kneel in front of him, with his cock in his red mouth, bruises and hickeys littering his skin. John felt desire churn at the sight of Roger looking so thoroughly marked by Brian and himself. He felt something swell in his chest, a blinding want to keep Roger here. He shook himself, startled at the intensity of it.

 

“You’re doing so good, Roger,” he said instead. Roger closed his eyes briefly, thighs twitching. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Love having my cock deep down your throat, using you like you were made for nothing else, like a little cock-slut –“ he choked off, because Roger had begun to moan deeply in his throat, the vibrations sending up sparks of liquid pleasure straight to his gut. “Rog, Rog, honey, I’m going to come, can I –“ Roger looked up at him, waiting, not even flinching at John’s increasing, erratic pace. “Can I – I want to come on your face, please –“ he whined, felt his toes already curling, when Roger pulled off his cock, eyes wide.

 

“Deaky-love,” he breathed, voice sounding utterly wrecked as he grabbed firmly onto John’s hips, steadying his shaking frame. John whined, biting into his own arm. “Come, you can come, you can – _anything_ , c’mon _baby_ ,” he heard Roger say, and then there was a hand on his cock, gripping tightly and John gasped and looked down; hooded blue eyes looked back, and that was all it took. John choked, watched through heavy-lidded eyes as spurts of come painted all over Roger’s face, his chin, his lips, his cheeks, even on his eyelashes, his hair. John trembled uncontrollably as he came apart, unable to tear away from the sight below him.

 

After what felt like a small eternity, he was spent, and Roger let go of his cock, hand coming back to his hip, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb over his skin. John swallowed as he watched him; Roger looked sinful, and a small, primitive part of him felt dark satisfaction at the way his come dripped down Roger’s face, mixing with water; at the way Roger was flushed, looking back at him as if letting him take his fill – as if letting John stake a claim.

 

Then John reared back slightly, shaking the possessive thoughts off – Roger didn’t belong to him, he reminded himself, and ignored the cold feeling in his chest viciously. He shot Roger a small smile, instead, reaching out a hand, which Roger gratefully took, wincing as a knee gave a loud pop.

 

“I’m telling you, I’m not getting any younger,” Roger said mournfully, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “A few years ago I could’ve knelt at your feet for _hours_ , and now look at this,” he continued, motioning to his slightly trembling legs. “It’s a disgrace.” John nodded, decidedly _not_ thinking about Roger kneeling at his feet for an entire day as he reached out and wiped away some come from his chin.

 

“Such a pity,” he managed to tease, but it felt off to him – _he_ felt off, still too intense, something pulsing just below his skin. If Roger noticed, he gave no inclination, grinning at him mischievously, before he made a face as he wiped off some more come from his eyelashes, turning to fully submerge himself under the luke-warm spray of the shower.

 

“Wash my back?” Roger asked as he looked over his shoulder, winking. John barely suppressed a groan at the back of his throat, instead rolling his eyes and reaching for the soap. As he mechanically went through the paces, he tried not to think too much about how much Roger was willing to give him – give them.

 

Because then he’d have to ask himself the same question.

 

.

 

After a very late breakfast, which technically was lunch, John watched with some amusement as Brian tried to feed Roger some more tea, while Roger was pulling out all of the stops evading it, even going as far as dumping the rest of the tea into the pot of an unsuspecting houseplant when Brian wasn’t looking, exaggerating the preening when Brian was praising him, like one would a toddler. John was torn feeling fond and exasperated at their antics, but Brian kind of had a point; Roger’s throat was still sounding scratchy, in a way that had nothing to do with their activities, and though he hid it well, Roger was sniffling. John was also certain he would’ve felt warmer than usual, if he let any of their hands close to his forehead.

 

The lazy afternoon was slowly turning to evening, the world outside getting darker, and that was when Roger stretched, getting up from the couch.

 

“This was great and all, but I really gotta head home now,” he told them. John pursed his lips, and he saw Brian frown from the corner of his eyes.

 

“I can stop feeding you tea, if–“

 

“Bri,” Roger interrupted with a snort. “This isn’t about this bloody swill you call tea; it’s Sunday evening and I’ve been here since Friday night.” John blinked. He hadn’t really realized that Roger had spent the entire weekend here. From the slightly flabbergasted expression Brian hadn’t either.

 

“Oh,” John said, for lack of anything else to say.

 

“Mhm,” Roger said pointedly. “And I do have a house. And a cat who’s no doubt gonna bite my toes again if I stay away any longer.”

 

“That thing’s still alive?” John wondered, distracting himself from the squirming feeling of wanting to keep Roger with them longer.

 

Roger glowered at him. “You be nice to my one and true love of my life. Just because she peed in your shoes that one time –“

 

“Yeah, whatever,” John said, making a face at the memory. Ziggy didn’t love anything besides Roger; John was half-convinced that thing was a spawn of some demon. Of course, Roger treated it like it was his wife. They migrated to the entryway, following Roger, where he was just pulling out his jacket. John frowned, casting a look outside.

 

“Rog, you’re not going out just in that, are you?” Brian asked, eyeing the flimsy leather jacket just as critically.

 

“Brian for the love of god, stop mothering me, please,” Roger sighed. “I’m fine, it’s not that cold out, and this is the only jacket I’ve got here anyway.”

 

Brian opened his mouth to argue, and John tuned them both out, more than used to their bickering as he shifted through the closet, before he finally found what he was looking for. He tossed it at Roger, who got a face-full of wool, cutting off his scathing reply.

 

“What the fuck is this, Deaky?” Roger asked, holding the coat at arm’s length away as if it had personally insulted his mother.

 

“It’s a coat. You wear it when it’s cold out,” he snarked.

 

“It’s ugly,” Roger said without thinking.

 

“Gee, thanks, Rog,” John replied. To be fair, the coat would be a bit large on Roger, and it was more practical than stylish, the dark green color not exactly complimenting Roger. John hadn’t worn it in almost two years, still keeping it around as a spare, which came in handy now. “Just wear it.”

 

Roger looked mulish for a second, and John prepared himself to have to wrestle Roger into the thing, but then Roger slipped into it, flapping the too long sleeves like a penguin, but then he made a surprised noise when he snuggled in further. John knew why – the coat was damn cozy, and he suppressed a smug grin. “Fine, I’ll wear this monstrosity, but only because to get you off my back,” Roger said pompously.

 

“Of course,” Brian said indulgently. Roger squinted at him, but Brian looked the picture of innocence.

 

“You calling a cab?” John asked, and Roger shook his head.

 

“Nah, I’ll take the tube a bit further ahead, ‘s not like there are many people about in this weather.” John opened his mouth, before he shut it. He had been about to ask Roger to call them when he got home safe, but – that didn’t seem like the thing to do – it wasn’t his place, so he refrained.

 

“Get home safely and _please_ drink some more tea,” Brian said, seemingly having none of John’s reservations. Roger looked close to blowing his top, and John eyed the various knick-knacks Roger could potentially use as a projectile, and, you know, John kinda hung on some of those, so he shot a look at Brian while he quickly opened the front door.

 

“See you tomorrow and don’t freeze to death,” John said.

 

Roger snorted, but his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, yeah, you too, Deaks,” he grinned, turning around and wincing at the cold gust of wind greeting him, burrowing into the coat. “Well, see you tomorrow,” he tossed over his shoulder, stepping outside.

 

John closed the door quickly to cut out the freezing wind, but couldn’t help staring after Roger for a long moment. Eventually, he turned to Brian, who was watching him with a thoughtful expression.

 

“You don’t need to mother him this much, you know,” he told Brian. “He can look after himself.”

 

Brian was quiet for a long moment. “It isn’t about mothering him,” he replied. “I just – feel he could take better care of himself.”

 

Everything in John wanted to agree; Roger was living alone, and that motherfucking thing parading around disguised as a cat didn’t count. It had been more than a year since Dom had moved out all her things, and he knew Roger hadn’t really moved around anything to make it look less like half of the flat had been torn out. John wasn’t sure if Roger honestly didn’t care, but he suspected it was some form of self-punishment, for whatever had happened. Neither Brian nor he knew what had transpired; they had been rather caught up with their new relationship, and when Roger had mentioned it in passing, it had been weeks already, and Roger had seemed – alright, and they hadn’t known how to bring it up. John still felt some lingering guilt, for not being there, for not noticing. Especially because John knew that Freddie knew most of it, and Crystal definitely knew, and if Crystal knew, Ratty probably did too, and, well.

 

So Brian trying to take care of Roger in some form was understandable, but –

 

“We can’t forget that he’s our friend. _Just_ our friend,” he reminded. Brian pursed his lips.

 

“We’ve always taken care of each other,” Brian said pointedly, meaning the big We, as in, _Queen_.

 

“Yes, but we haven’t been fucking him then,” John snapped crudely. The ugly feeling from earlier came back tenfold, lodging itself right in his ribcage. John felt his breath come in short puffs, felt his face contort in a sneer.

 

Brian regarded him, the same thoughtful expression from before there, but tinged with something angrier. “No,” he eventually said, voice soft. “I guess we haven’t.” He turned around and left John standing in the hallway as he made his way upstairs.

 

John watched him go, wishing he understood what had just happened.

 

.

 

Monday was grey, dark clouds rolling, washing out the color of the city, making it look dreary and lifeless – John desperately wished for snow, as it was already mid-December, and he felt a distinct lack of Christmas cheer.

 

Perhaps it was because of the strange silence that had taken over their house after Roger had left; it felt like every sound was swallowed, like cotton over John’s ears, and yet echoing around the house. He had ignored it as best as he could, and if Brian had noticed anything similar, he hadn’t shown it.

 

Perhaps it was only John who felt like he had stepped outside himself and couldn’t step back.

 

As soon as he stepped into the studio with Brian, though, he was met with cheerful laughter as Freddie (early for once) and Roger were hanging up what looked like naked angels with way too much gold around their studio, giggling like naughty little boys. The odd mood John had been in dissipated as if it never had been there in the first place.

 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Brian said, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Both of their bandmates startled and turned around, Roger dropping the naked angel he was holding.

 

“Excuse you, but we _are_ ,” Freddie said self-importantly, gesturing around the room. “We are bringing some color into this dull season!” John eyed the gaudy little naked angels, which were – _very_ detailed in the crotch area – with a raised brow.

 

“Fred, where did you even _get_ those?” he wondered.

 

Freddie smirked. “It’s best if you don’t know where those have been before I – ah, _borrowed_ them.”

 

“You’re literally so rich you could afford a golden toilet to shit in and you stole some ugly Christmas stripper figurines?” Roger asked, hopping down from the stool.

 

“Oi,” Freddie sniffed. “Clearly, you have no appreciation for the finer aesthetics.” John snorted, alongside with Roger, while Brian hid a grin behind a hand. Freddie sighed. “I wonder why I put up with all of you.”

 

“Because,” Roger grinned, wrestling Freddie in an octopus-like hug. “We love you and you love us, and it’s too late anyway.” Freddie grunted, trying to struggle free, before he gave up, letting Roger have his victory with a suffering expression.

 

“Is this a group-hug moment?” Brian asked cheekily, already raising his arms and stepping forwards. Freddie gasped, finally breaking free.

 

“No, that is _not_ why I came early,” he exclaimed, evading Roger’s following arms.

 

“Why did you?”

 

“Well,” Freddie replied, moving to the couch, lighting a cig. “We gotta talk about what we’re doing for Christmas, and I thought it best to do it when it's just us.” _Without Paul_ , Freddie had meant, but was too kind to say. Roger plopped himself next to him, and Brian and John followed.

 

“Oh, that,” Roger sneered at the memory that they had all been roped into some stupid TV show without even having been asked or informed in time.

 

“I don’t want to do that – _idiotic_ Christmas special,” Brian admitted. “But we are kind of obligated to.”

 

John mulled over the words, tapping his foot. “It was a fucking dick move, not even asking us – and some of us do already have plans,” he nodded at Freddie and Roger. They all remained silent for a moment, before Freddie looked up at them with a mischievous glint in his eyes that promised mayhem.

 

“Well,” he began. “They can’t force us if none of us are accounted for,” he sing-songed, and –

 

 _Oh_ , that was brilliant. John started to grin.

 

“That could work,” he said slowly. “But we have to make absolutely sure we’re not around a few days before that.”

 

“Let them scramble for another last-minute fill in that’s gonna suck,” Roger nodded, grinning at John.

 

“But only _I_ am going out the country so far,” Freddie pointed out. “And on the 23rd – that’s too late if only I am going.”

 

“Well, I could go to my mum’s right after Ratty’s birthday bash, which is on Friday 19th. But,” he bit his lip, and John watched him think, decidedly not following the path of his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Prenter already knows where I’ll be and if it’s only me they have to track down and Freddie is leaving so late, this probably won’t work.” Both he and Freddie turned to look at Brian and John pointedly.

 

“So, lovelies, I think you two have just earned yourselves a honeymoon,” he winked at them. “Take a week off, go to some tropical island, fuck each other’s brains out, the whole shtick.”

 

“Huh,” John said.

 

“But, we wanted to have a relaxed holiday in at home –“ Brian began, but John scowled.

 

“We never actually _decided_ what we wanted to do,” he said. Brian turned to look at him.

 

“Do you really want to go through the hassle of – of flying to some tourist-infested place, possibly dealing with fans without security around, having to watch our every move?” Brian hissed back.

 

“It would be nice to spend some quality time with my _partner_ , is all,” John grumbled. Brian tensed, mouth already open to retort, when Freddie cleared his throat.

 

“Darlings, please,” Freddie said pointedly. “I don’t think this the time or place, is it?” Brian swallowed the no doubt scathing retort back, glaring at John. Roger was looking back and forth at them, confused frown on his face.

 

“Well, you could stay in the country,” Roger tried to placate. “Hole yourselves up in some nice cottage and, uh –“

 

“– We’ll see,” John cut him off. “We’ll discuss this later. In _private_ ,” he said pointedly to Brian, who huffed, glaring at the table. They had never actually gotten around to decide, but John wanted – he wanted Brian for himself, just for a while, away from everything. They would have to hash this out later, and he’d rather not have his bandmates stand witness.

 

“As long as you’re unavailable, it will work,” Freddie said, eyeing them with a pinched expression, mouth thinning. “They’ll no doubt call a meeting, though.”

 

“I suggest we dump them, then.” Roger shrugged. “We should inform Miami though of the honor of managing us,” he added, smirking. Brian laughed.

 

“I’ll call him later,” he promised, smiling at Roger. Squeezed between them, watching them smile at each other, John felt –

 

Cold. Cold shivers running down his spine, and he felt his lips twitch downwards.

 

Freddie was watching him with the same pinched expression he had been sporting earlier. John stared back, and suddenly he wished he could talk to Freddie about whatever was going on, but John didn’t understand it himself.

 

As if Freddie had read his thoughts, he shot John a pitying look, before changing the subject.

 

“Well, onto lighter matters – who’s in charge of Ratty’s birthday bash?”

 

.

 

Later that night, John tossed around in their bed for a long while, feeling unsettled. There was a sigh from across the bed, before Brian turned on a lamp, bathing their bedroom a warm color as John blinked at the sudden brightness.

 

“Do you want to tell me what this is all about?” Brian asked softly, scooting closer, long fingers settling on his cheek. He looked at John with a worried, gentle expression.

 

John felt exposed. “I – I don’t know, Bri,” he answered quietly. “I just feel – off.”

 

Brian hummed, thumbing over his cheekbone soothingly, and John closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I feel confused about this – thing with Roger.” Roger _makes me feel confused_ , he didn’t say.

 

“Why?” Brian asked, voice so, so incredibly gentle that John felt hot behind his eyelids.

 

“Fuck, I wish I knew,” John shook his head. “But it’s – it feels _weird_ now, and –“

 

“Is that why you’re so adamant on going on a holiday?” Brian asked.

 

John blinked. He hadn’t even thought that far, but – Brian might be right. “I think so?”

 

Brian pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I _really_ don’t want to go anywhere, _but_ ,” he added as he saw John’s lips twitch downwards. “I’ll think about it, yeah?”

 

“I – yeah. Okay,” John nodded. “I just – want you for myself, away from our usual trot. It might even do us good.”

 

Brian mulled over his words. “We can always –“ he trailed off, frowning unhappily. “We could – always stop. With Roger.”

 

_No._

 

A sudden surge of distress raised in him, choking his next words.

 

“I – we could,” he agreed hesitantly. Brian nodded, but he looked as reluctant as John felt. John remembered –

 

_“ – I just don’t want – things to change –”_

He gritted his teeth at Roger’s voice echoing in his mind. “We can,” he nodded. “After all, this was about helping us out, and it did.” _No, no, he didn’t want that, why had he said that?_

 

“Alright, but, love,” Brian said. “Do you really want –“

 

“What I want,” John said forcefully, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Is you. Always you.”

 

_But is that all you want now?_

 

John growled inwardly, grabbing Brian by his shirt forcefully. “John –“ Brian breathed, eyes wide, confused.

 

Brian was all he’d wanted for a long time. Brian was enough. Brian was all he _needed_.

 

John leant over, licking into Brian’s mouth, who yielded immediately, shivering as John rolled them over, intent clear.

 

_Then why was he feeling so conflicted?_

 

.

 

In light of last night, John didn’t know how to act around either Brian or Roger. After he’d spent hours taking Brian apart, concentrating on his partner, his lover so he wouldn’t have to think about anything – _anyone_ else, Brian had told him that he understood that John needed time to sort out his thoughts.

 

John felt immensely guilty by Brian’s loving, understanding nature, especially because wasn’t sure how he’d feel if their situations had been reversed. Initially, he had resolved himself to keep his distance until he’d sorted through his messy feelings, but –

 

Well, Roger didn’t exactly make it _easy_.

 

And the worst part was, he couldn’t blame him, because Roger was just the same as he always was, energetic and beautiful, and so, so sharp – Roger was _bright_ , in more ways than one. And now, everytime he looked at Roger, everything they’d done together clawed their way up to the surface; every moan, the way he tossed his head back, how wide his deep blue eyes were when he was aroused, the way he moved when –

 

John clenched his fist, beating the thoughts away – he wasn’t going to get a fucking boner while Paul fucking _Prenter_ was in the room with them.

 

At least, Prenter’s presence was good for one thing – John’s simmering arousal of watching Roger drum was doused almost immediately as he refocused on the man, instantly starting to feel annoyed. Unfortunately, he’d showed up today quite unannounced, going over the setlist of their upcoming appearance which none of them intended to show up to.

 

Then he saw Roger exchange a secret grin with Brian, before he schooled his expression to a frown for keeping up their pretense.

 

“Prenter, do you _have_ to be here?” Roger wheedled, twirling one of his drum sticks, and John got momentarily sidetracked watching those fingers. “I’m sure someone else could give us the setlist, and you know, spare us of your presence.”

 

“Taylor,” Prenter replied sweetly, not looking up from his papers. “It’s cute you think your opinion matters, but best keep to what you do best – looking pretty and whore yourself out to everyone.” John felt a hot flash of fury at the words, gripping the neck of his bass so tightly it made the wood creak. Next to him, Brian inhaled sharply, and John could see his nostrils flaring in the way he knew he was close to losing his temper. Across the room, he saw Ratty wince.

 

Roger grimaced, hands tightening around his drumsticks, but when he looked at Prenter, there was nothing betraying his face. “Jealous I’m getting fucked whenever I want while no one thinks twice to look your way, no one _bothering_ with you?”

 

John watched with dark satisfaction as the words immediately hit home, Prenter’s face turning an odd shade of purple. Whatever he was about to say got interrupted by Freddie’s and Crystal’s reappearance, returning with lunch. They both picked up at the hostile vibes, but Freddie just sighed and started handing out bags full of food. Crystal, however, exchanged looks with Ratty, who nodded at Prenter, then Roger, and then shot a pointed look at Crystal. Crystal grunted, shuffling his way over to Roger, who already looked resigned at his approach.

 

John was momentarily distracted by Freddie handing him his bag of hot food, and his stomach growled at the heavenly scent wafting up to his nose. There was a loud snap, everyone startling and looking over to the drum riser, where Roger had begun to curse loudly.

 

“Fuck, Ratty, get the first aid kit,” Crystal said, inspecting Roger’s bleeding hand – somehow, Roger had managed to snap his stick in two, the splintering wood cutting into his palm.

 

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Roger snarled, shoving Crystal’s hands away.

 

“Stop acting like a brat, you’re fucking bleeding –“

 

“I got it, piss off!”

 

John blinked. Roger’s mood had shifted from vaguely annoyed to furious in a matter of seconds. And he and Crystal usually got on like a house on fire. Ratty ran back with a first aid kid, and Roger shouldered his way past Crystal to meet him. Crystal shot a resigned look at the back of his head, shaking his head.

 

Curious.

 

Brian had already made his way over to Roger and Ratty, where Ratty was picking out the few splinters from Roger’s skin, and John followed, wincing when he saw the mess. Roger saw him wince and shook his head.

 

“’s not as bad as it looks, Deaky,” he smiled. “Just the damn drumsticks aren’t what they used to be, quality-wise.” John could’ve sworn he heard Crystal mutter about how the poor stick wasn’t at fault for Roger’s temper, but Roger kept smiling through it.

 

John hummed, not thinking as he reached out to cradle Roger’s hand, inspecting the damage. Now that Ratty had cleaned up the blood, what remained where only red welts, blood dotting here and there. Ratty shifted next to him, looking at John.

 

“Do – do you wanna –“ he gestured to Roger, looking at him strangely.

 

“Oh!” John said, taking a step back, dropping Roger's hand. “No, sorry, I just wanted to make sure –“ he trailed off, not knowing what to say; he didn’t know _what_ he had wanted.

 

A small smile curled around Roger’s lips. “It’s just a scratch, you two,” he said, and only now John noticed that Brian had been hovering too. “Go eat your food before it gets cold.”

 

“Yes, mother,” Brian said.

 

“Oh, very rich, coming from you,” Roger shot back, but his entire face was lit up with mirth, even as Ratty poured a generous amount of disinfectant on his palm.

 

“Roger!” Freddie called him over. “Listen, I need you to take some stuff over to your house, for Ratty’s party on Friday.”

 

“What? No, get Jim to do it, I’m not your bitch,” Roger complained.

 

“Jim has an upstanding day job, darling, unlike us bums.”

 

“Then _you_ do it.”

 

Freddie sighed. “I’m delicate.”

 

“And I just got injured!”

 

“That’s barely a scratch,” Freddie snorted dissmissively. “Brian and John can help you.”

 

“We’re right here,” Brian said around a mouthful of salad.

 

“I’m aware,” Freddie replied. “You’re not going to let poor Roggie carry those boxes, are you? He might lose a hand.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” John muttered. “How many boxes are we talking?”

 

“Well –“

 

.

 

“Oh, I’m going to fucking _kill_ Freddie,” Roger panted, setting down the last box, sitting down on it. He wiped his face with the shirt he was wearing, revealing a good part of his stomach. John swallowed drily as he spied some of their bruises still vivid on his hips.

 

Brian sat down next to Roger on the floor. “We’re rich, _why_ did we even do this ourselves?” he lamented.

 

“Because Freddie has us all twisted around his little finger, that’s why,” John sighed, leaning heavily on the wall, facing the other two.

 

“I hate him,” Roger whined, wincing as he tried to bring order to his sweat-soaked hair, fingers coming away damp. Brian snorted, slumping more heavily against the crate, head leaning against Roger’s thigh. Roger patted his hair absentmindedly, his breath slowly evening out. “Well, let’s get out of the garage, before we catch our deaths,” Roger grinned, getting up, stretching languidly. John was decidedly _not_ watching how his shoulders flexed under his shirt. “Anyone up for a beer?”

 

.

 

John wished he could say how he ended up like this, _again_ , even after resolving himself to fucking take a breather from whatever this thing between them was; one minute, they had been standing in the kitchen with a cool beer, discussing something mundane John couldn’t quite remember now, the next, he was sitting on Roger’s soft couch, Brian kneeling between his legs, sucking him off, while Roger was sitting – no, _kneeling_ on the loveseat across them, one hand on his cock, the other disappearing behind him, little gasps escaping him while he was watching him and Brian with hooded eyes. Roger had chucked his jeans off sometime, but John and Brian were still fully clothed, John’s trousers only open enough to free his cock.

 

One day, John was going to have a talk with Roger – lube didn’t belong next to the fucking ashtray in the living room where anyone could see; but, it certainly wasn’t right now, with Brian’s pretty mouth around his cock.

 

John moaned quietly as Brian’s head bobbed, taking him deeper, his hand fisted tight in Brian’s curls, torn between watching Brian’s mouth working on his cock, and watching Roger across from them, quivering and flushed so, _so_ prettily. He tugged at Brian’s curls until his cock dislodged from his mouth, Brian whining unhappily.

 

“Bri, love, what do you want?” John asked hoarsely. He thumbed across his red bottom lip. “Tell me how you want it today.” Brian looked up at him, eyes blown wide.

 

“I – can you –“ he trailed off, looking over his shoulder at Roger, who squirmed at the sudden attention. “Can you fuck Roger, let him ride you? I want to watch and, when he’s done I want you to come in my mouth so I can taste you both.”

 

_Fucking hell._

 

Roger was looking at him, waiting for his decision with an expression of pure want. “I –“ John swallowed. “Of course, Bri, whatever you want.” He didn’t break eye contact with Roger as he slowly got up, moving languidly like a tiger on the hunt, and in two strides, he stood before him and Brian. Brian shuffled aside to make way for him, but didn’t get up otherwise, seemingly content to remain where he was.

 

“Hey,” Roger said lowly, voice like velvet. For a few moments, John couldn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of him, long legs bare, shirt still sweaty from earlier; in fact, he already looked half-fucked.

 

Somehow, John gathered himself enough to make the next words somewhat playful instead of insanely desperate; “Do you wanna sit down, honey?”

 

Roger laughed, the low sound pleasant to John's ears as it chased a shiver down his spine. Roger saddled himself astride John, kneeling over him, their faces close. “Brian,” Roger whispered, not looking away from John. “Do you want me to decide the rhythm or should John?” John felt Brian hum against his leg in thought. He reached down to tangle his hand in Brian’s hair again, even if it was impossible to look away from Roger’s blue eyes.

 

“You,” Brian hummed. “Take it slow, I want him to feel you, and I want you to come first.”

 

“So demanding,” Roger said, breaking their stare to smile down at Brian. “But as you wish.” John felt him lower himself, wet hole already brushing against his cock. His hands flew to Roger’s hips, halting him.

 

“Hey, are you – are you loose enough, you didn’t take a lot of time –“

 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Roger said, and the tiny smile was so warm, lighting up John’s entire chest like a sun. “’m still a bit loose from the weekend.”

 

“But –“

 

“You won’t hurt me, don’t worry,” Roger assured him, sinking down on John’s cock. “I can take it.”

 

The last words fell on deaf ears as John gasped, eyes falling shut as his head fell backwards. Roger used the backrest of the couch to steady himself, and was quick to find a rhythm, the slide of his cock inside Roger’s tight heat nothing short of heavenly.

 

“Slow down,” Brian told Roger.

 

“Jesus, okay,” Roger breathed, and John managed to pry his eyes open to watch him, a look of concentration on his face as he slowed down, panting slightly. John could feel his thighs quiver against his hips and he soothed over them, watching Roger’s lips twitch slightly.

 

“It looks so good from here,” Brian said softly, and only then John realized that Brian must have a perfect view of them sliding against each other. “Do you like how Roger fucks himself on your cock? Feels great, doesn’t it?” John let out a small, desperate sob. “Having him panting over you, his pert little arse clenching around your cock as he gets all flushed and pretty.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , Brimi,” Roger whined, speeding up the slightest bit. John made a sound like a sob again, hands tightening around his hips, and Roger blinked down at him, something softening in his face. He let go of the backrest next to John’s head, instead winding his arms around John’s shoulders and upper back, John’s face coming to lay against Roger’s chest. His hands came up on autopilot, gripping the fabric of Roger’s shirt tightly.

 

He felt cradled. Safe.

 

“Oh, Deaky,” Roger sighed tenderly, one hand coming up to cup his head. For some reason, John felt heat prickling behind his eyes. He swallowed, burying his face into Roger’s soft skin. “Deaky – _Baby_ , it’s okay,” Roger said, voice soothing. “I’m gonna take care of you, promise,” he told John, who barely managed a nod. He was still cradled against Roger’s chest, and even as Roger resumed his pace, there were fingers carding through John’s hair. Roger was pressing breathy kisses on the top of his head, and everything felt too much all of a sudden.

 

“Rog,” John half-moaned, half-sobbed. “Rog, you feel so good around me, you’re being so good, please –“ he babbled, not sure what he was asking for. He pulled Roger flush to him, making him lose his steady rhythm in the process. He felt Roger’s breath stutter in his chest, felt the quickened heartbeat, and he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut. “Rog, please,” he whispered. “Want to feel you come on my cock, you’re so pretty when you do.”

 

“Yeah, I can, I can do that,” Roger moaned, jerking when John began sucking on a nipple, soaking up every sound Roger made. Then he gasped, and John felt Brian’s fingers teasing along where he and Roger were joined.

 

“Bloody fucking hell,” John cursed into Roger’s skin, heard Roger make a sound like he agreed, but was rather speechless.

 

John could relate.

 

“John, love, he’s so close,” Brian said, sounding awed. “You should see it – I can tell just by the way his thighs are flexing. Do you feel him arch into you? Is he already tightening around your cock?”

 

John was going to gag Brian the next time, because fucking hell, _that mouth_. “If you want me to come after him, _shut up_ ,” he begged through clenched teeth, willing himself to hold out for just a bit longer as Roger sped up, breathy moans tickling the side of his face.

 

Brian answered him with a chuckle. “But he’s so close already, so desperate for your cock, don’t you see? Look at him, John,” Brian demanded. “Look at how you make him fall apart.” John grunted, lifting his head to look at Roger, and –

 

Well.

 

Roger was delightfully flushed, blue eyes glazed slightly over as he looked down at John, sweet little moans escaping him whenever John brushed over his prostate.

 

John couldn’t look away.

 

Then Roger jerked, and a moment later, John moaned as he felt long, elegant fingers tease along Roger’s rim.

 

“Oh, _oh_ , fuck,” Roger mewled. “Fuck, there, _right there_ , please –“

 

“We got you Rog,” Brian mumbled, and John tightened his arms around his middle, and then he felt Roger freeze, a long, drawn out moan escaping him as he arched his back, almost completely off John’s cock as he quivered in John’s arms, and John shut his eyes and bit down on Roger’s skin to keep himself from coming right after, feeling hot spurts of come coat his shirt and pants.

 

He held Roger through his orgasm, chancing a look up at him, and found himself again caught by the sight of Roger, completely coming undone because of John. He had clearly been missing out because watching Brian fuck Roger and see him come, and watching Roger lose it because of _John_ was a completely different feeling. Having Roger under him had been incredible too, but, like this –

 

John felt his heart lodged right in his throat, and didn’t know if he was glad when Roger came down finally, a shuddering breath escaping him as he let his head fall on John’s shoulder, still holding on to him tightly.

 

“Fuck, your cock’s really something else, Deaky-love,” Roger breathed, awed laughter in his voice. John opened his mouth to retort, but he cut off in a moan as Brian was suddenly in their space, grabbing Roger by his waist and pulling him off John.

 

“It really is, isn’t it?” Brian replied to Roger, holding him to his chest, suckling at his neck. Roger was completely pliant, sated, letting Brian manhandle him contently. “So big and fat and hard for you, filling you up so nicely until you feel like it’s almost too much.” Brian was talking to Roger, but his eyes were glued to John’s, dark with desire. John spread his legs more, inviting him.

 

“Yeah,” Roger mumbled, eyes almost closed as Brian deposited him next to John on the couch, pretty much melting into the soft fabric.

 

“Brian,” John swallowed, watching Brian as he leaned over him, and then there were hungry lips on his, licking into his mouth and taking his fill. “Brian,” he breathed when he tore himself from his lover’s lips. “Please,” he begged.

 

“Please what?” Brian hummed, even as he got to his knees between John’s legs.

 

John groaned, thumping the back of his head against the backrest. “Please touch me, Brian,” he said. Brian smiled, hands soothing over his calves. John closed his eyes. “Please,” he grit out. “Suck my cock and let me come in your mouth.”

 

There was a quiet snicker from next to him, but John couldn’t even care because those sinful lips had just wrapped themselves around his cock, tongue swirling around the head, before Brian swallowed him down in one go.

 

John was already so, _so_ close, and Brian made the most fantastic little noises as if John’s cock was the most delicious thing he’d ever had in his mouth. John was really grateful they’d discovered Brian’s oral fixation thanks to Roger, because Brian was bloody _good_ at it. One of his hands tangled with Brian’s curls, not directing Brian, but rather holding on for dear life.

 

“Bri, love,” John moaned softly. Brian hummed, and John couldn’t stop himself from twitching upwards. “I – I’m going to –“

 

Brian chose that moment to roll John’s balls neatly in his hand, and John bit down on his lip so hard he drew blood as he came, Brian not letting spill a single drop as his hot mouth tightened even further around his cock, happily taking everything John was giving him.

 

Eventually, Brian pulled off, leaving John shivering at the cool air that hit his wet cock. Brian peppered a few kisses over his partly exposed stomach as John managed to catch his breath, licking up Roger’s drying come, but eventually he was squirming against John’s leg, and, oh, Brian hadn’t come yet, had he? Blindly, John tugged at Brian’s arm, pulling him to his lap. Brian went pliantly, slinging his arms around John much like Roger had, straddling his thigh.

 

John reached for Brian’s fly, but his hand was batted away. “No, like this,” Brian said, voice quivering, but tone firm.

 

“You going to ride me like Roger did? Fuck yourself on my thigh, coming in your pants like a naughty schoolboy?” John asked breathlessly, watching Brian as he began to hump his thigh, hips rolling, burying his face into John’s shoulder, mumbling an affirmation. John grabbed him by his hips, letting Brian dictate the pace, but enjoying how the slim hips felt between his hands.

 

In fact, John loved everything right now – from the way Brian was panting into his neck, needy little hitching breaths pressed into his skin, trying to fold himself so he fit perfectly against John, to how juvenile and _dirty_ this felt, with Brian rutting against him desperately, and –

 

With Roger watching them intently. John looked over, locking eyes with Roger as Brian’s movements became more erratic, breath hitching. Roger was laid out like a cat, limbs languidly draped over the couch, but his eyes were the darkest blue John had ever seen on him. His throat closed up, unable to look away even as Roger tore his gaze away to look at Brian, until Brian whined right into his ear, hips stuttering erratically as he came, plastering himself firmly against John, riding out his orgasm. John held loosely onto his hips, feeling every gasp and twitch of his lover, until Brian eventually sagged against him, pressing a dry kiss high to his neck before cuddling close. John circled his arms around his waist and held him close.

 

“You’re incredible, Brian,” John said quietly, awed. Brian hummed contently, death grip loosening around him, sliding to the side more, until he was neatly tucked to his side.

 

“You are too,” Brian replied softly. He looked over to Roger, eyes drooping, and John followed his gaze. Roger was watching them with warm eyes, an almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Come over here,” Brian sighed, reaching out. “Cuddling is important after.”

 

Roger smiled wider, ambling to his knees, about to crawl over, when the doorbell suddenly rang.

 

All of them froze.

 

After a beat of silence, John spoke up. “Are you expecting someone?”

 

“No,” Roger scowled, peering in the direction of the hallway, as if he would suddenly be able to look through the wall and see who it was. “I swear, if this is another fanatic disguised as a salesman, I’ll –“

 

The doorbell rang again.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake –“ Roger growled, shoving off the couch with a thunderous expression, stalking towards the hallway.

 

“Trousers!” Brian exclaimed, starting to untangle himself from John.

 

“Would serve them right,” Roger muttered, but reached for his jeans anyway. “Stay where you are,” he told them when he saw Brian scoot away and John tuck his cock away. “I’ll get rid of them.”

 

Jeans now on, he stomped away, just as the doorbell rang for a third time. “Fucking hell, _I’m coming_!” Roger yelled, voice further away, and John heard him yank open the door. He heard Roger say something, tone strained, but John couldn’t make out what it was. He shared a look with Brian, before he got up.

 

“Deaky, your crotch,” Brian hissed, motioning where there were drying stains all over his shirt and trousers, curtesy of Roger.

 

“Okay, shit,” John murmured, sinking down and grabbing a blanket. “Do you hear who it is?” he asked Brian quietly.

 

Brian tilted his head to the side, frowning in concentration. “It’s a woman, but I’m not sure –“

 

A new voice filtered through from the hallway. “– Really, Roger, I just came by to drop these, I won’t disturb you or your guests –“

 

“Dom, you can’t just –“

 

Brian and John froze. It was Dom.

 

Dominique. Pretty, perfect Dominique, who had broken off with Roger a year prior. And she was coming their way. Brian eyes widened, grabbing a pillow to hide the wet patch on his crotch, but that didn’t hide how fucked out he looked. John was sure he looked much the same, and Roger had _definitely_ looked (and walked) like he just tumbled out of bed right after a good dicking.

 

They were pretty much fucked.

 

“Oh, Roger, it’s just Brian and John, seriously, it’s not like we haven’t met,” Dom said, stopping in the doorway as she spotted them. “Hello, boys,” she smiled, waving. “Life treating you good?”

 

“Sure,” John replied, grateful the backrest of the couch hid both him and Brian from their shoulders down. Still, his hands were getting sweaty. Brian wasn’t much better off, eyes darting everywhere, mumbling an equally clipped answer, avoiding looking her in the eyes for the most part. Dominique frowned, taking a step forward, but then, the little demon also known as Ziggy darted into the room, making a beeline for Dom.

 

“ _Chèrie_!” Dom exclaimed delightedly, crouching down to greet her. Of fucking course that thing loved Dom, no matter how much John had tried to bribe her with treats and toys in the past. Of course. “Oh, I missed you, my sweet little baby,” Dom crooned, scooping her up to cradle Ziggy in her arms. If John would have attempted that, he would be missing half his face, but the damn thing just started to purr and nudging her head against Dom’s chin. Figures.

 

Roger shuffled in after her, a complicated expression on his face, a small cardboard box tucked under his arms. In fact, he couldn’t seem to look away from Dom and Ziggy, Dom being oblivious to the emotions flitting over Roger’s face. John’s stomach churned unpleasantly as he watched Roger.

 

A part of him wanted to reach out and hug him, because Roger looked both elated and heartbroken, and something else, unreadable on his face. He followed Dom like a sunflower would the sun, almost drooping whenever she turned away.

 

John _hated_ it.

 

“Thanks, Dom, for these,” Roger said quietly, indicating to the box. John briefly wondered what was in it, but was distracted by the grimace flitting over Roger’s face.

 

Dom sighed. “They’re yours, and I – want a fresh start,” she said, equally soft.

 

“Yeah, I – I get that,” Roger winced. “Just, I’m sor–“

 

“No, Roger,” Dom said firmly, her pretty mouth pursing in annoyance. “We talked about it – there’s nothing else left to say.”

 

Roger exhaled. “Yeah, okay,” he nodded, voice flat. “Just, take, care I guess?”

 

“I will,” Dom hummed. She turned to Brian and John, something in her eyes sharpening as she roamed her eyes over them. John resisted the urge to squirm. “See you around, boys,” she said, a stiff smile on her face, before she turned to Roger, letting Ziggy jump out of her arms, the cat meowing in complaint. “See you, Roger. Give Crystal all my love.”

 

Roger reared back as if she had struck him, eyes wide. John frowned at the strange reaction to the – oddly specific – words. They watched Dom leave, door falling shut, and that’s when Roger tossed the box violently in a corner, a suppressed scream of rage catching in his throat. Brian got up, slowly, reaching out to Roger.

 

Roger shrugged him off, and through his hands wiping over his face, John saw that his eyes were bright with both anger and tears.

 

Shit.

 

“Roger, what’s going on? What did she mean?” John pressed, getting up. The tight, scalding feeling he’d been feeling the entire week took over his chest, burning him from the inside out.

 

Roger shook his head. “Leave it,” he pressed out, not looking at either of them. Brian frowned, again trying to reach out to Roger, who stepped out of range. A look like guilt flashed over Roger’s face.

 

And it was funny how a two-minute visit from Dom could turn Roger completely upside down still, as if he was still hung up on her, despite their break-up being months ago. John desperately wished he could step back to the past, near the end of their last tour, and make himself pay attention to Roger, to what had _happened_. John felt guilty and furious that he didn’t know, that he had been so caught up with his and Brian’s new _everything_ , that they hadn’t even known about the breakup until _weeks_ later, and by that time, Roger had told them not to bother because he was _fine_.

 

And now they were stuck here, in this exact spot, with Roger actively dodging Brian, dodging them, with Dominique and _Crystal_ hanging over their heads and Roger shutting them out, and John felt the burning need to know everything about this, and what the fuck had Crystal to do with it all.

 

“Roger, you can talk to us,” Brian said softly, stepping closer but not reaching out again. John shifted closer as well, eyes glued to Roger’s face, watching every micro-expression flitting over his face, before it became forcefully blank.

 

“Bri, I’m sorry, but I don’t _want_ to,” Roger said calmly, straightening himself up. “This is between me and Dom.”

 

“And apparently, Crystal,” John couldn’t help but say. Roger squinted at him, while Brian turned and actively gave him a look that told him to shut up.

 

Brian turned to Roger again. “We’re your friends, and we want to be there for you,” he said gently. “You’ve been here for us every day for the past few weeks – let us do the same.”

 

They both could see some inner struggle taking place in Roger, shoulders eventually sagging. “Look,” he began softly. “There was something I fucked up, and I – I’m still coming to terms with it, so I don’t – don’t want to rip that band aid just off yet, okay? It’s not –“ Roger broke of, erratically pulling through his hair.

 

“Okay,” Brian said after a long pause, despite that John could clearly see he didn’t like it one bit. John didn’t either.

 

“Sorry, I – I didn’t want to freak out like that,” Roger said wryly, clearly hellbent on moving on. “Kinda ruined the mood, huh,” he smiled, or rather, tried to. It didn’t take a genius to see Roger felt all kinds of devastated, barely holding it together.

 

John wanted to reach out and pull him close, let Brian wrap around them; wanted to hold Roger until he finally would be comforted enough to tell them everything. He wanted to run after Dom and shake her for upsetting Roger, despite being told it wasn’t her fault.

 

John wanted a lot of things.

 

Above all he wanted to quell the burning feeling in his chest threatening to bubble over. John wanted some fucking answers. And maybe he felt wrongfully entitled to being privy to Roger’s feelings, but fuck, they were best friends, weren’t they?

 

He shook himself from his inner turmoil when Roger started speaking again. “So, do you – do you want to order something in or –“ John studied him, watched him shifting from one foot or another, and realized with sinking feeling that Roger didn’t want them to stay, but would let him and Brian stay if _they_ wanted.

 

That was a lot to unpack. “We can leave,” John said through gritted teeth, not able to conceal how – _emotional_ he was right now. Brian shot him another warning look, and suddenly, it was too much, the feeling bubbling over. “In fact, I think we should, if you don’t want to talk to us – if you’d rather talk to _Crystal_ ,” he couldn’t help but jab. Roger’s eyes flashed in a mixture of anger and hurt.

 

“Yeah,” Roger snapped, clearly fed up. “Get home safely.” He heard Brian groan next to him, but John barely noticed through the roaring of blood in his ears at the easy dismissal.

 

The next minute was kind of a blur, John being only vaguely aware of Brian exchanging an apologetic few words with a clipped Roger, before he was forcefully grabbed by Brian and herded out of Roger’s house and to the car.

 

After a few minutes driving through the night, John had his beating heart under enough control that he could look at Brian.

 

“What the fuck was that, John?” Brian asked, hands curled tight around the steering wheel, glaring ahead of the road.

 

John swallowed, shaking his head. “I – I don’t –“

 

“If your next words out of your mouth are ‘ _I don’t know’_ , I’m going to make you walk the rest of the way home,” Brian said darkly.

 

“But I _don’t_!” John exclaimed. “I don’t know why I feel like I’m being swallowed whole whenever Roger’s looking at you, or someone else, or even you looking at _him_!”

 

Brian snorted. “I do,” he said. “Because I felt the same when he looked at Dom – the way he looked at her.”

 

John felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to hear the next words because deep down, he knew.

 

“John,” Brian sighed, looking at him. “You – _we_ – are jealous.”

 

There was a beat of silence, Brian turning to face the road with a resigned expression.

 

“Oh,” John said.

 

His mind felt blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh, now who saw that coming? It's only gonna get worse from here, huehuehue
> 
> *laughs manically in a corner while sipping capri sun out of a 45 buck gold plated champagne glass, wearing a chesire cat onesie*


	16. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening, and Brian looks for a solution, with dubious results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY PEEPS PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER THANKS
> 
> SPOILERS AHEAD
> 
> This chapter has our boys indulging in copious amounts of Cocaine and Alcohol. They also have sex under the influence, which could count as dubious consent. Also, there's some heavy D/s dynamics, and, due to their inebriated state, no aftercare afterwards. If you don't want to read that, stop at the line "“Looks like you need something a bit stronger, hm?”", and start after "Brian didn’t even remember his cheek hitting the pillow."
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> .
> 
> @tikini, you're so special and I want to thank you again for your input and letting me bounce off ideas on you - I feel so honored that you love my story so much ♥♥♥♥ Also you were a huge help for esp this chapter *winkwinknudgenudge*
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Brian felt like throwing something out of the window, and was reminded of Roger.

 

Roger, who seemed to be the center of a tsunami of emotions for him and John this week. Brian glanced over to John, who had been staring blankly out of the window of their car since Brian confronted him about why he had been acting like a prick.

 

Jealousy.

 

Brian turned to concentrate on the road again, exhaling a sigh through his nose. He had been watching John closely since their weekend with Roger, and to Brian, it had been clear John had been feeling put out and jealous over Roger, and over Brian, too. Initially, he had wanted to wait until John would’ve come to the conclusion himself, or rather, was ready to admit it, and decide with John how and where and if they were going from there. But then Dom had showed up, and Roger had gone from cheerful to a hot mess in a matter of seconds over someone who broke off with him months ago, and Brian had felt the hot-cold sting of jealousy himself, blindsiding him.

 

And then John, level-headed, rational John had blown his top like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and Brian had gone through the five stages of grief in a matter of moments, accepting what he felt, forcing John to do the same.

 

Judging from the empty look John gave the passing road, he was still processing. Brian suppressed another weary sigh as they pulled over to their house, suddenly feeling bone-tired. John followed him inside mechanically, making a beeline for their liquor cabinet after tossing his coat haphazardly into a corner. Brian pursed his lips, following at a slower pace. He shook his head when John looked at him in askance, about to grab a second glass.

 

Brian watched John pour a very generous amount of vodka, and throwing it back like it was water. Eventually, John looked up at Brian. "I’m sorry," he said, sitting down at their kitchen table.

 

Brian’s mouth worked, trying to get his thoughts in order. "For what?" he eventually asked.

 

John poured himself a second glass, but didn’t drink, instead swirling it around thoughtfully in his glass. "I made a mess of things. And, I should never have asked Roger to help us in this manner. I shouldn’t have asked that of _you_. I’m sorry." John looked devastated.

 

Reaching out, Brian took his hand, John’s face scrunching up as if he was about to cry. "I’m not," Brian said softly. John stared at him. "I didn’t take note of your needs, and we were constantly at each other’s throats. Roger _did_ help us." He took a deep breath. "And we’re better for it." Thanks to Roger, he didn’t say.

 

"But, I –" John stuttered. "It was my idea. And now I, and, you apparently too, feel, feel –" he trailed off.

 

"Jealous," Brian sighed.

 

"Yeah, that. But, we shouldn’t, we’re not in a – a _relationship_ with Roger," John replied, looking more distressed by the minute. "It was supposed to _help_ us, not change us."

 

"Look," Brian said. "It’s not entirely surprising that some feelings get muddled when being – err, intimate with someone, right?" John shrugged. "But just because we got used to having Roger around, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way, hm?"

 

John remained silent, mulling the words over with a frown. "So, what? We just – stop?"

 

That made Brian pause. Logically, he knew that would be the wisest course of action, but, something in him balked at the idea.

 

"Well, I suggest we – we talk to Roger first. See how he feels about it."

 

There was a snort coming from John. "I don’t think he’s being open for rational thinking," John said dismissively, almost haughtily, and Brian frowned.

 

"You weren’t exactly presenting yourself in the best light tonight either, John," he said pointedly, making John grimace. "I think we’re all a bit too – wound up to be honest."

 

That made John look up at him. "And you – you’re jealous too?" He asked hesitatingly.

 

"Not of you or him," Brian said, and that _was_ something curious, that John had been shooting _both_ of them possessive looks. "But, of Dom, how he was with her? Yeah."

 

"And Crystal?" John asked pointedly, and Brian tilted his head in confusion. John huffed, waving his hand. "The way she said his name, I just –"

 

"Well, we don’t know what happened, don’t jump to conclusions," Brian began, but John was relentless.

 

"Oh, fucking come on, Bri," John said lowly. "You know how she meant it."

 

Brian closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He loved John, absolutely, but hell if he wasn’t _infuriating_.

 

"Don’t jump to conclusions," he repeated. "We won’t know until Rog tells us."

 

"But that’s the point, he _won’t_!" John exclaimed, jumping to his feet and slapping the palms of his hands to the wooden table with a loud slap. "And I’m tired of not knowing what the fuck’s going on with our – with Roger."

 

"John, love, you can’t force him –"

 

"I don’t have to," John said, visibly calming down, a slow, dangerous smile appearing. Brian felt a wave of dread. "If Crystal is involved, then the other roadies know too. _Ratty_ knows."

 

Brian’s eyes bugged out of his skull. "John, it’s his _birthday_ , don’t ruin that just because you’re _nosy_."

 

John looked at him, eyes boring into his very soul. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want to know too."

 

And.

 

Brian couldn’t. He wanted to, but he couldn’t; Roger was dear to him, and it pulled at his heartstrings seeing him this broken up about anyone. Brian knew that Roger had wanted a future with Dom, had felt settled for the first time in his life; and he had said he had fucked it up. Brian wanted to help, to understand.

 

Brian wanted to know.

 

"See," John said sweetly. He put away the glass and the opened bottle of vodka. "I’ll ask Ratty tomorrow." John left, steps fading upstairs.

 

Brian sat for a minute, rubbing a hand over his face.

 

That probably wouldn’t end well.

 

.

 

John was crafty, Brian had to give him that; he’d waited until everyone else was either preoccupied or not in the studio, when John called Ratty over. Brian scooted closer, relieved that most were on a smoking break, only Jobby, who was busy fiddling with some equipment far across the room, and Freddie, who was engrossed going over a song he was working on – he wouldn’t hear the world end outside when he was like this.

 

"Ratty, dear," John said sweetly. Ratty, who knew John very well at this point, immediately tensed.

 

"Whatever it is, I don’t know, and I didn’t do anything," he said immediately.

 

"Don’t be like that," John said, still with that overly sugary tone that fooled exactly no one. "I was just curious about some gossip I heard."

 

Ratty groaned. "John, c’mon, I’m sure it’s just some dumb comment one of us made –"

 

"Particularly," John spoke over him. "I’m curious to know how exactly Crys is involved in Roger’s and Dom’s break-up."

 

Brian watched as Ratty turned white, then a particular shade of rosy, before he sighed, resigned. "Aw, fuck," he said. "You’re not gonna let me enjoy my birthday tomorrow if I don’t tell you now, are you?"

 

"You know me so well," John said.

 

"I could uninvited you," Ratty threatened, but his heart wasn’t in it.

 

"We both know you never would," John said. "I could also fire you."

 

"Yeah, right," Ratty grunted, a grin appearing, before he became serious. "Alright, I don’t know how you found out, and for the record, I only know what Crys told me when he was face-deep into his fifth shot of Tequila, so, don’t take it word for word." John nodded, motioning for him to continue. Brian shuffled closer, waiting with bated breath despite himself. "Alright, so. Apparently, Dom had an agreement with Roger, for when he was touring, yeah?" Brian blinked. He hadn’t known about that, and he hadn’t noticed Roger fucking around last tour. With a wince, he realized that there was a lot he hadn’t noticed. "And, somehow, and I _really_ don’t know why, Roger mucked around with Crystal a few times, which apparently was against their agreement, and she got quite furious and broke it off. Crys felt like, super guilty about it, and Roger refused to talk with it about anyone. That’s all I know, I swear."

 

"Oh," Brian said numbly. That was – that was a lot. Brian chanced a look over to John, and, well, there was quite a dark cloud gathering. Ratty seemed to notice, too.

 

"Look, I don’t know why you two are suddenly so invested, but it’s been months. Just," Ratty waved a hand. "Don’t make a thing out of it, please."

 

"I won’t," John said, voice deceptively soft. Ratty looked dubious, because if anything, the stormcloud over John’s head had gotten even more foreboding.

 

"Yeah, alright. I’ll just. Go somewhere else now," Ratty muttered, all but sprinting away.

 

"Are you happy now?" Brian asked John pointedly. John hadn’t moved, looking intensely at Roger’s beloved drum kit. "Roger did already tell us that it was him that had fucked up, and I don’t like going behind his back like this."

 

"Happy?" John repeated in a whisper, turning to look at Brian. " _Happy_? No," and there it was, the famous temper. "Roger fucked up his one working relationship he’s ever had for a bit of cock. For _Crystal’s_ cock. He refuses to talk about it, and I want –"

 

"What _do_ you want, John?" Brian asked in a hissed whisper, aware that they weren’t alone, but so far, neither Jobby nor Freddie had noticed. "Why the hell are you focusing so much on Crystal? We both know that Roger had guys before him."

 

"Yeah, but those were just – groupies. Crystal works with him, with us," John snapped, but keeping his voice low. Brian looked at him pointedly. "With us it’s different," John said, but there was heat rising on his cheeks. "Doesn’t it bother you? That he’s trying to sweep everything under a rug? Doesn’t talk about it with us, not letting us help him? He’s hiding something," John added, more to himself.

 

"Did it ever occur to you," Brian began. "That we’re not entitled to his every thought? He’s probably just working through it by himself."

 

"But he shouldn’t!" John exclaimed. "I don’t like it, him hiding away when he’s hurting."

 

"Neither do I," Brian admitted. Part of him did want to track Roger down, hug him into submission, be there for him, as he had been for Brian himself, for John, countless times. "But if you force this, he’s going to dig his heels in even more," he warned. And likely, destroy whatever they had between them right now.

 

"I know, but I, I just don’t get it," John groaned, rubbing his forehead.

 

"Get what?"

 

"Why the fuck Crystal? He’s not – I mean," John stopped, frowning. "I don’t like it," he repeated, deflating.

 

And well, neither did Brian. What Ratty just told them painted a strange picture, one Brian couldn’t reconcile with Roger, and Brian didn’t like picturing Roger with Crystal either. And yet, whenever he tried to imagine them together, wondering how _that_ had come about, and how the fuck he had missed something as big, he reared back when his mind conjured Crystal’s broad hands caressing over Roger’s fair skin, a shudder of jealousy spiking through him. In fact, his mind seemed keen to imagine Roger and Crystal together, in various positons, doing things together him and John hadn’t yet managed to do with him, his own memories of Roger overlapping with his imagination of how Crystal would be like with him, making Brian feel like he was burning with rage.

 

He knew it was because an irrational part of him felt jealous, when really, he – _they_ had no right to feel that way. Roger wasn’t theirs.

 

The thought send a spike of cold through his chest.

 

"We don’t know everything," Brian said softly, trying to hide the wave of anger, of jealousy behind a soft demeanor. John didn’t seem to notice.

 

"That’s not our fault," John said, somewhat tartly. Brian worked hard to suppress another sigh.

 

"Just," Brian implored. "Let it be – for a while, at least, please?"

 

John frowned, before he nodded. "Fine."

 

.

 

Apparently, it wasn’t fine. John was, sort of, stalking Roger through the entire day, barely looking away from him, a constipated expression on his face. To be fair, Brian was chancing looks at Roger as well, but not this obvious (he hoped). While John tried to be friendly, everyone could tell something was afoot, and thus made a wide berth around him.

 

Roger had definitely noticed, last night’s argument likely still present in his mind, so whenever he caught John staring, he glared right back, which in turn made John cranky and Brian was generally just done with the entire situation.

 

When they were leaving for the day, he dragged John over to Roger by his elbow. Roger looked at them both with a raised eyebrow. "So, what’s this then?"

 

"John would like to apologize for last night," Brian said. John snorted and looked away.

 

"Doesn’t look like he wants to," Roger said pointedly.

 

Brian sighed. "Sometimes, John doesn’t know what’s best for him," Brian said, trying for a grin. "So I’m apologizing for his behalf."

 

"U-huh," Roger said.

 

"Actually," John said, wringing his arm free from Brian’s grasp. "I’m not. I know I lost my temper a bit yesterday, but I just don’t understand why you won’t let us help you."

 

"Oh, fuck, are you serious right now?"

 

"John," Brian interjected.

 

"We’re your friends, I think we –"

 

"Okay," Roger interrupted, standing up. "I know this probably comes from some twisted sense of belated support," No, Brian thought, it was because they were jealous, but he wasn’t about to tell Roger that. "But there lies my issue – _belated_ ," he enunciated, glaring them both down. "Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking elated for you two when you finally got your heads out of your asses, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were so caught up with yourselves that everything – _everyone_ else fell away." Roger took a deep breath, looking at the ceiling briefly. "I get it, but still. So, I’m not sorry for trying to get over this mess instead of re-hashing this out, just because you two suddenly are up for it. Besides, it’s not like no one else noticed."

 

Ouch.

 

Brian winced, because, Roger wasn’t wrong. It still hurt, but he wasn’t _wrong_.

 

John however, seemed to be in a rather combative mood. "Ah, like Crystal, yeah? Needed a shoulder to cry on?"

 

Roger’s face shuttered shut so fast as if lightning struck him. "Fuck you," he growled, shouldering past them with a dark expression, grabbing the coat John had given him.

 

"Rog, hang on," Brian called after him.

 

"And fuck you too, Brian," Roger hollered over his shoulder, and, that was a bit unfair, Brian thought. He turned to John.

 

"Are you trying to be a prick or does it come naturally to you?" Brian snapped. "I know you’re feeling all sorts of out right now, but letting out your frustrations on Roger is counterproductive."

 

"I’m not wrong," growled John. Brian threw his hands up.

 

"Alright, I’m done. You can take the car, I’m walking home."

 

John looked alarmed. "It’s cold out and already getting dark –"

 

"And I need the time to think, and a breather from your attitude," Brian volleyed back. John’s face darkened.

 

"Maybe that’s best, if you’re talking to me like a toddler."

 

"I wonder why," Brian muttered, grabbing his own coat and marching outside.

 

.

 

The frigid air did wonders clearing his head. He’d been walking for about thirty minutes, when the last of the simmering anger dissipated, leaving him exhausted and feeling almost desolate. He gnawed at his bottom lip. Had he been unfair to John? He felt like he should have tried to be more understanding, instead of forcing him to confront something he clearly hadn’t been ready for, thus lashing out. Brian sighed, burrowing into the soft scarf Freddie had gotten him a few years back. Perhaps they both needed a breather, time to think about it, about the warring, confusing feelings they both had begun to feel for Roger.

 

Again, his mind wandered to the news that Ratty had involuntarily given them, immediately picking up the earlier train of thought. He grimaced as he reminded himself of every time that Roger and Crystal were practically piled on top of each other, giggling and whispering in a corner with each other, lost in their own world. His mind wandered further, merging his memory of Roger in the throes of passion accompanied with Crystal’s low laugh, strong hands not belonging to either him or John on Roger’s hips –

 

Brian growled, curling his hand into a fist. He did understand John, then, because, he absolutely despised the thought of Roger with someone else.

 

Brian looked up as a snowflake landed on his nose, breaking him from his train of thought; it seemed like winter had finally arrived, and suddenly, the world didn’t look as bleak, the fairy lights strung up everywhere suddenly cheerful instead of overbearing and annoying.

 

Then, he spied a small poster in a shop-window, almost hidden between two larger stores. Brian came closer to read the advertisement, feeling himself smiling.

 

This was what John and he needed. Nodding decisively, he stepped into the travel agency.

 

.

 

On his way back, he picked up some Chinese take-out from around the corner, the one he knew John went absolutely wild for. When he got home, most of their house was dark.

 

"John?" he called softly into the darkness.

 

There was a beat of silence, before a muffled voice answered. "Kitchen."

 

He found John sitting on the floor wedged between the counter and fridge, last night’s bottle of vodka held in his hands. "Oh, John," Brian mumbled, reaching for the bottle, setting it on the table and crouching down before him.

 

"I didn’t drink," John said defensively, not looking at him. "I wanted to, but – I know you don’t like it, so."

 

Brian guided John’s chin up tenderly to look at him. "Thank you," he said honestly, glad that John had refrained, for him.

 

"Yeah, I thought – I thought you didn’t deserve me drunk on top of today. After yesterday."

 

"I’m glad you didn’t," Brian said, sitting down on the cold tiled floor in front of John. John looked small, curled up on the floor with a forlorn expression on his face, and Brian often forgot that John was the youngest out of all of them, had just turned thirty. He rubbed his thumb along John’s chin gently, John immediately leaning into the touch, closing his eyes.

 

"I know I’m acting like a right prick," John mumbled into Brian’s hand, kissing his palm. "Just, everything I’m around Roger rationality flies right out of the window."

 

"Roger has that effect on people," Brian grinned. John swatted at him half-heartedly.

 

"I’m serious here," John said, but a small smile was twitching at the corner of his lips. "I’ll try to get a grip of myself – I still think I’m right, but it’s just –"

 

"It’s difficult, I understand," Brian nodded. "And we’re all caught up right now, and there’s much going on, and, I think you were right," he paused. "We need some time just to ourselves, to figure ourselves out, what we want. That’s why," and here he paused, procuring the thick envelope he got from the travel office, holding it out to John.

 

"What’s this, then?" John asked, taking the envelope from him curiously, opening it. He froze when he saw the contents, and Brian waited, worrying his bottom lip. Perhaps he had overstepped, should’ve asked John first, or maybe John had even changed his mind –

 

His spiral of doubt was interrupted with a shout of joy, and John fell around his neck, hugging him tight on their cold kitchen floor, their take-out cooling next to them, forgotten. John leaned back, a wide smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. "You – thank you, Bri, love. I –" he gripped his shoulders tightly. "I thought you didn’t want to go away, why –"

 

"Because you’re the most important thing to me," Brian said softly, honestly. "And see," he took out the information of the rented house they would be staying at. "It’s not a tourist-y place, it’s a bit outside, but still close, and it has a private beach and –"

 

He was interrupted by a very enthusiastic kiss, lips prying his own open, and Brian dazedly noticed he was being pressed down to lay flat on the floor, John straddling him. After being kissed until he was dizzy, John sat up, looking down at him hungrily.

 

"When are we flying?" He asked Brian.

 

"Sa–Saturday night," Brian croaked. "It’s a rather late flight, and we’re going to have to inform the others, because I could only book for three weeks minimum–"

 

"Stop talking," John said huskily. Brian shut up. "Three weeks?" John asked, tilting his head.

 

"Yeah," Brian answered. John remained completely still for a second, before Brian found himself ravaged for a second time in as many minutes.

 

"Fuck, I love–" kiss "–you so damn much–" kiss, some tongue "–I’m going to fuck you for–" John’s bulge rubbing against his "–every day we’re there, gonna–" Brian whimpered, gasping for breath "–let you have it all, Bri."

 

"John, love, _sweetheart_ , please," Brian moaned, blindly dragging him closer. He heard John chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

 

"I’m going to give you everything you want," John mumbled against his skin, and there was a hand on his fly, freeing his cock, pumping it a few times.

 

Brian groaned. "On the kitchen floor?" But he was hardly able to put any real reprimand behind the words, already jerking up into the touch.

 

John laughed, his breath tickling Brian’s face. "Don’t tell me you actually care, right now," he teased, and Brian saw him loosen his own pants, before fingers brushed against his lips. "Suck," John commanded lowly, and the shivers racing down Brian’s spine had nothing to do with the cold floor. He let John’s fingers in, eyes falling shut as John lightly fucked his fingers in and out of his mouth, both their breaths speeding up and mingling.

 

"John," Brian mewled around his fingers. "Please, I want –"

 

The fingers disappeared from his mouth, and Brian tried to follow them thoughtlessly. "Hush," John mumbled, so close his lips brushed against his own when he spoke. "I know what you need, Bri," he continued, wet fingers reaching behind himself. "I’m going to ride you right here on this kitchen floor, until I feel you so deep inside me you’re not gonna be able to tell what belongs to whom, but it doesn’t matter – do you want to know why?" Brian whimpered, and John’s grin was positively feral, in control even as he fingered himself open. "Because you belong to me, just as I belong to you – you’re _mine_." Brian nodded, lost in the pleasure, lost in the sensation of John rutting lightly against him, quiet little gasps escaping him, while he licked into his mouth lazily, and Brian was going to lose his goddamn mind.

 

"Fuck, John, _love you_ –" Brian grunted into his mouth, John moaning softly in reply as he arched upwards.

 

"Brian, need you, need your _cock_ ," John gasped as he fumbled with his trousers, only pulling them down enough so his arse was free, scrambling into position. Brian’s hands flew to his hips, steadying him as he lined himself up.

 

"Are you prepared enough, it’s been a while," Brian breathed out, biting back another moan as John’s loosened, wet hole brushed against the head of his cock.

 

"Yeah, love it like this," John said, slowly sinking down on Brian’s cock, tossing his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. Brian held onto his hips for dear life, holding himself still. "Love how big you are, filling me up in all the best ways, love the burn of it, love _you_ –" he choked off as he bottomed out, thighs trembling violently as he hunched over, breathing harshly.

 

"John –" Brian breathed, but then something in John’s eyes flashed, and he lifted himself off, moving, and Brian fell back, letting John take him the way he seemed to need to. And John did, almost immediately setting a fast, harsh pace, hunched over Brian, one hand on Brian’s chest for balance, the other fisted in his hair tightly. John kissed him messily, in time with his thrusts, and Brian felt a sort of deliriousness taking root, clawing its way from his toes up, until it settled in his chest, stealing his breath.

 

John looked positively radiant like this, fucking himself on Brian’s cock like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, body taut with pleasure, sweat dripping from his face down onto Brian, his eyes squeezed shut as probing lips searched out his own, more of an open-mouthed press of lips.

 

"Brian," John said in a dreamy voice, heaving himself up, looking down at him through hooded eyes. Brian made a noise, but otherwise couldn’t find any words. John slowed down momentarily with his rhythm, instead rolling his hips more. "Bri, are you close?" John asked softly, the hand currently tangled in his hair moving to cup his cheek. Brian gave a vaguely affirmative moan, making John grin. "Love it when you’re like this, you know?" He said as he began speeding up again, flesh slapping against flesh in the most deliciously obscene noise Brian had heard. "Love how deep in me you are, how I can feel your cock twitch –" he cut off in a high whine, back arching, both of his hands now firmly planted on Brian’s chest for support.

 

Somehow, Brian found just enough of his voice to utter John’s name in wonder, and John looked down at him with a look such full of love and want, it made him gasp for breath, hips involuntarily jerking up in that tight heat wrapped around him.

 

"That’s it, Brian," John nodded, meeting his upwards thrusts with his own. "That’s so lovely, _you’re_ so lovely, doing so good filling me up, yeah?" Brian mewled, feeling his toes curl, his orgasm fast approaching. "C’mon," John breathed, and Brian saw his cock twitch, fat drops of pre-come dripping on his stomach. John was close too. "I want to feel you come inside me, want to have your come fill me, love it how you mark me as yours –"

 

Brian moaned, fucking up into John, hands tight on his hips, holding him flush as he came, and through the haze of pleasure, he felt John jerk to a stop a few moments after, walls tightening around his cock, the perfect pressure to milk up his own aftershocks. John moaned beautifully, head tossed back as he came, thighs uncontrollably twitching around his hips. Brian watched him through it, until John slumped forwards, head butting against Brian’s chest.

 

"Fuck, I love you," John said, pressing a kiss to his skin.

 

Brian felt something warm rising in his chest. "I love you too, John," he said softly, and John looked up with a small, beautiful smile. "You’re absolutely amazing." And he was, Brian thought. Despite their tempers often clashing, he was so grateful for him. "And I’m sorry, for earlier. The more I think of it, the more I think you’re right, about needing a small break from everything."

 

John leant down, kissing him tenderly. "Thank you," he mumbled against his lips. "And I’m sorry, too."

 

Brian hummed, before he chuckled. "I’m afraid your consolation dinner is stone cold, now," he said, nodding to the abandoned take-out bags. John snorted into his neck.

 

"Let’s just heat it up, while we clean ourselves off," John said, kneeling up until Brian’s softening cock slipped out, wincing as come dribbled down his inner thighs. "C’mon," he added, stumbling to his feet, helping Brian up, dragging him close, getting lost in another searing kiss.

 

"I don’t think we’ll make it to dinner that quick," Brian said breathlessly as John herded him upstairs towards their bathroom.

 

He felt John grin against his lips. "No, I don’t think so, either," he replied, his grin now full of promise.

 

Brian breathed out a laugh, all earlier thoughts left forgotten as he let John drag him into their bathroom.

 

.

 

They had arrived at the party precisely on time, but it was already in full swing. Brian grimaced at the sheer mass of people swarming Ratty’s place – he was sure there were at least a hundred people here, but he wasn’t surprised; Freddie had insisted on organizing most of it, and, well.

 

John and him moved through the throng of bodies, searching for any familiar face. John was already bobbing his head slightly to the, in Brian’s opinion, boring and repetitive music, but John did like a good bop.

 

Eventually they spotted Freddie, draped over a mildly uncomfortable looking Jim, talking to Ratty and Jobby. Freddie waved at the enthusiastically when he spotted them.

 

"Oh, there you are, darlings!" He shouted over the music as they got closer. "Finally, I might add."

 

"Officially, the party was supposed to start like five minutes ago," John pointed out, sliding next to Freddie, Brian following – making an already tight squeeze even tighter.

 

"Well, you know how it goes – you’re there early for some last minute prep, some drinks start following, you call over some people, and there we are," Freddie smiled, waving his hand.

 

"Of course," Brian sighed fondly. "Ratty, Happy Birthday, old man," he added nodding at the man.

 

"And hopefully to many more, despite your old age," John added with a laugh, grabbing a beer and toasting.

 

"I cannot believe the disrespect in my own house," Ratty sighed good-naturedly.

 

"Well, now that there are some competitors here –" Freddie said, drunkenly fumbling with a Scrabble board he pulled out of nowhere. "I’m going to get my title back," he pointed at Brian accusingly, who felt a self-satisfied smirk forming.

 

"Oh, you’re on," he smiled, nudging at John, who rolled his eyes, but scooted closer, setting aside the glasses and bottles littering the small table, so Freddie could set up the boards.

 

"I still maintain you cheated," Freddie grumbled. "There’s no way you came up with ‘lacquers’ by yourself."

 

"Don’t be a sore loser," Brian hummed, which made Freddie only glower harder. Beside him, John was trying to mask a giggle with a cough.

 

"Fuck you," Freddie said. "Ratty, where’s Roger, I need him," Freddie added, turning to him. Ratty shrugged.

 

"Dunno. I saw him last more than an hour ago? He disappeared in the crowd with some bird. Crys was looking for him earlier though, so they might turn up later."

 

Freddie snorted. "Better hope your house is insured if the Taylor Two find each other already drunk and high." Ratty laughed, Jobby and Jim joining him, but Brian didn’t hear them, didn’t hear anything past the roar of blood, his mind focused on the image of Roger and Crys, drunk and clingy and getting up to all sorts of naughty things, a pretty, nameless woman caught in the middle.

 

It made his hands shake and stomach churn, something burning lodged in his chest.

 

Next to him, John looked positively murderous, beer frozen halfway to his lips.

 

"Uh, Brian?" Jobby asked. Brian looked up. "You okay? You look a bit peaky." Freddie looked up.

 

"Looks like you need something a bit stronger, hm?" He asked, already fumbling with a small package of familiar white powder. "Lucky for you all, I come bearing gifts."

 

"Yeah," John said, voice shaking. "I think I need something stronger than beer."

 

Brian couldn’t agree more.

 

.

 

Perhaps playing Scrabble while drinking and snorting Coke wasn’t the most recommendable decision Brian had ever made, but it made all these pesky, ugly feelings of jealousy disappear into the background, instead making him feel familiarly euphoric and happy, mind deceivingly sharpened to everything happening around him – like John, pressed against him, everywhere where their skin touched he felt little sparks racing down deliciously down his spine, their game of Scrabble in a dull focus, and everything felt great, the additional buzz of alcohol mellowing out the sobering feeling of losing the high considerably.

 

It could have been hours they were playing, or maybe just minutes – Brian wouldn’t have known, because apart from their little group playing, people came and left, an endless dulling beat of music in the background melting the minutes together. Brian was sure, at one point he didn’t blink for at least a solid five minutes while staring down at their game.

 

At one point, Freddie and Jim had left, and returned quite disheveled, and well, wasn’t that just the best idea ever? John seemed to think so as well, if the way he had plastered himself to Brian's side while kneading his thigh was any indication, but –

 

Brian seemed unable to tear himself away from the endless, _smart_ words his mind supplied for the game, but eventually, the first high definitely fizzled out when he suddenly slumped against John, frowning at the _good_ feeling disappearing. John hummed into his ear.

 

"Want to get some fresh air?" He whispered into Brian’s ear, and he sounded like Brian definitely would be gasping for air.

 

"Hold it!" Freddie said pompously. "You’re not leaving until I beat you."

 

Brian groaned. "That’s going to take _ages_."

 

"Oh, fuck you very much, Brian," Freddie snapped. "If you’re feeling the crash, there’s plenty more, but you’re not leaving ‘til I’m through with you." Jobby made a lewd sound at the words, but Freddie hit him in the shoulder with a bored eye-roll.

 

"C’mon, love," John whispered in his ear, handing him a drink, something frizzy and pink that smelt like it had been on fire at one point. "Drink. Have fun. We have the whole night."

 

So Brian did.

 

.

 

The night dragged on, and Brian spent most of it in a blissful haze of copious amount of alcohol and coke, with John not leaving his side even for a minute, whispering sweet filth into his ears until Brian’s head was spinning even _more_.

 

Eventually, they had managed to wrangle free from Freddie’s competitive presence when Brian conceded a word that _definitely_ wasn’t real. John and him stumbled aimlessly through the crowd, and at one point Brian had spied a clock with the time, and it was barely 2AM; sober, he might have wanted to suggest they leave early so they wouldn’t be hung over by the time their plane was due (and, oh, they still hadn’t told anyone, had they?). In his current state, he followed John blindly into a closet on the second floor, not even blinking at the naked women passing them.

 

He lost time again while he made out with John next to a dusty broom like they were on tour again, everything feeling heightened and new and fantastic, even more so when John fell to his knees with the filthiest grin in front of him.

 

.

 

Brian felt marginally more sober when he stumbled out of the cramped closed behind John, who was wiping his mouth with a satisfied smirk, but only because the walls seemed to have stopped moving towards him.

 

"Wanna go home," John said as he grabbed him by his hair, tugging him close. "Want to fuck you so bad, Brian," he added, an open-mouthed kiss pressed to his mouth. Brian whined in frustration, grinding his hips against John’s; he didn’t feel particularly up to bottoming tonight, but John had a promising glint in his eyes that was hard to say no to.

 

"We need to find out of here first," Brian mumbled against his lips, before partially tearing away from John’s intoxicating kisses, trying a random doorhandle, unable for the life of him to remember which way was out.

 

He wished he hadn’t tried that particular door, feeling himself freeze just as John did next to him.

 

There were a few people in the large room, huddled together in pairs, and one bold pair of women in particular with their hands in each other pants, but that was not what was drawing their attention.

 

Roger sat with his legs thrown over Crystals lap, talking quietly with each other, both their faces practically glued together. Somewhere, in a rational part in Brian’s mind, he knew it was because they wouldn’t hear each other over the sound of booming music and chatter; he knew that Roger wasn’t any more touchy than usual, being a tactile person by nature.

 

Brian couldn’t hear the voice of reason over the rush of furious possessiveness clawing in his chest, in his head, consuming every fiber of his being.

 

John was the first to unfreeze, looking as angry as Brian felt, taking a step towards the pair squeezed together on the tiny sofa, and numbly, Brian followed as John all but prowled over. As they got closer, Brian was able to make out some of the conversation.

 

"– And she just. Just fucking left the box, Crys," he heard Roger slur. "Like it never meant anything. And I didn’t look inside yet, but I know. I _know_ ," and Roger sounded desolate, but Brian was unable to conjure anything but more anger, more jealousy at the fact that Roger clearly had no problem telling Crystal all about it, when he’d practically kicked him and John out over it. "You know, I told you about how we would put the – the _things_ in it, and now –"

 

"Hey, Roger," John said sweetly, interrupting Roger’s teary rant smoothly, lifting Roger’s legs and squeezing himself between Crystal and Roger, putting Roger’s long, pretty legs over his own lap. Brian followed his example and squeezed himself in next to Roger, making both Roger and John wiggle over, until Crystal was forced to stand up because the couch wasn’t meant for three people, let alone four.

 

It certainly was childish, but Brian felt a dark satisfaction with the feel of Roger pressed tightly between him and John, _as it should be_ , with Crystal looking vaguely annoyed.

 

"Hey," Roger said slowly, looking at both of them with a curious expression, before looking at Crystal.

 

Crystal looked vaguely resigned. "I’ll just find you later," he told Roger with a shrug, waving them off as he left.

 

"No you won’t," John muttered under his breath.

 

"I heard that," Roger said pointedly. "Shit like that isn’t gonna make me forgive you faster, you know?" Brian hummed, reaching up to caress his fingers through Roger’s messy hair. Roger leant into the touch despite himself, eyes falling shut with a content expression. "I’m still pissed at you, yeah?" But the words were barely more than a purr, and Brian smirked triumphantly.

 

"I wonder why I don’t believe you," John laughed quietly, strong hands moving to massage his ankles and calves. Roger moaned weakly, tossing his head so far back he was practically reclined entirely in Brian’s lap as well.

 

Not that Brian minded a lapful of Roger.

 

"You two are such pricks," Roger said without any conviction, pupils blown even wider than before.

 

"Well, we certainly _have_ to pricks," John said, grinding his hips just slightly into the flesh of Roger’s thigh, just enough that it was clear that, _yeah_ , John was still painfully hard and eager to fuck someone.

 

And well, that would certainly be convenient; both he and John weren’t much in the mood for bottoming, and Roger was wonderfully pliant in their laps.

 

"That you do," Roger agreed, slightly breathless.

 

Brian continued to massage Roger’s scalp until he had practically melted into their laps. "Let us make it up to you, hm?" he asked him. "We could fuck you _good_ , so deep you’ll feel it for days." _Erase everyone else who wants a piece of you until it’s clear who’s having you, who you belong to,_ his mind supplied.

 

"Here?" Roger laughed.

 

"No," John said, voice velvet-soft. "We’re taking you home, have you all nice and ready for us, spread so prettily."

 

"Fuck, _okay_ ," Roger breathed, nodding, crawling off their laps on unsteady feet. "I think I just might be in a forgiving mood after all." Brian shared a satisfied look with John, before they got up as well. Roger seemed eager, Crystal blissfully forgotten as he stumbled over his own two feet. John reached out to steady him, hands firm around Roger’s hips. Even as Roger had managed to steady himself, John seemed unwilling to let him go, gently steering towards the door.

 

Brian followed, anticipation and alcohol and coke and desire burning through his bloodstream.

 

.

 

The ride back was – _something_. Maybe the third time doing coke was overdoing it, but the rush of additional euphoria was only amplified by the three of them entwined so close in the backseat of the cab that Brian couldn’t for the life of him tell the hands on him apart anymore. They had kept Roger in their middle, and Roger had begun to look slightly overwhelmed by their attentions, but no less receptive.

 

Most of the ride was a blur, only the heated bodies close to him mattered. He traded desperate, heated kisses with John over Roger’s head, while they pried open John’s warm coat to touch his smooth skin.

 

Someone (certainly not Brian) must’ve paid the patient cabbie, and then they were all stumbling up the driveway of their home. John was fumbling for the keys, but by this point Brian was left with no more patience, pressing Roger up to their door, attaching himself to his throat, biting kisses into warm skin as Roger moaned softly, head thudding against the wooden frame.

 

"Brian," he said softly, hand carding encouragingly through his curls.

 

"You’re not forgetting about me, are you?" John mumbled, stepping close. Brian wasn’t sure at whom the statement was supposed to be directed at, but with the way John sidled up next to him, opening Roger’s trousers as he latched himself to Brian’s neck, it didn’t really matter.

 

Roger hissed at the frigid air hitting his exposed cock. "Fuck, fuck, can we please move this inside, to a bed?" He begged them, and Brian was tempted to have him just like this on their front porch, but, well. It _was_ winter, and Brian didn’t fancy losing a toe just for a shag. Maybe in summer.

 

Next to him, John hummed, grabbing Roger by his upper arms and frog-marching him backwards into their home, Brian hastily following and slamming the door shut, not wanting to be parted of either of them for more than a few seconds, craving their skin, their hands, their warmth.

 

John now had Roger pressed up next to their coat rack, practically ripping off the coat and tossing it into a corner, his own following behind, before he tugged at Roger’s silk shirt, kissing newly revealed skin with each button that was opened. John seemed desperate, almost frenzied to have Roger naked.

 

Brian could relate.

 

He moved over, caging both of them to the wall with his arms, pressing impossibly close. John already had a hand tugging at his fly impatiently, muttering something into Roger’s chest that made Roger giggle.

 

"True," Roger agreed. "Why are you still dressed, Brimi?" John turned his head to look at Brian with dark eyes, pupils almost swallowing all colour.

 

"Get naked," John said.

 

The commanding tone made something squirm in his stomach, hot and cold shivers racing down his back. He stepped closer, yanking John away from Roger by the hair. "Who put you in charge?" He asked against wet lips, before licking into John’s hot, welcoming mouth, even as he shrugged out of his coat and started to unbutton his shirt with his free hand.

 

Not to be outdone, John grabbed him by his open shirt and maneuvered him until he was pressed next to Roger against the wall, not breaking their kiss once. Brian moaned, the sound swallowed greedily by John as a leg slotted between his own, falling open automatically.

 

More clothes fell, and eventually, John moved away a fraction, just enough to break their kiss, and Brian was now missing his shirt, trousers halfway down his thigh alongside his underwear. John’s shirt was rucked up, jeans missing but still sporting underwear. Brian turned to look at Roger, wedged half between them, half pressed against the wall, and.

 

He was almost entirely naked, only his pants hanging on to the curve of his arse by what seemed sheer willpower, his pretty, fat cock standing proud.

 

"Gorgeous," John said, cupping Roger’s cock, making him whine and arch into the touch. Brian tugged him closer, until his arse was firmly pressed to Brian’s cock, and Brian couldn’t resist rutting against Roger, while John drew close from the front, pressing them both firmly back. "You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you?" John asked Roger, sucking a mark high on his neck, making Roger keen between them, the sound making Brian’s cock twitch and leak. "We’re gonna fuck you like the little slut you’re being, parading your arse for everyone to see." Roger twitched between them, eyes falling shut. "I saw how those birds were looking at you, how much _Crystal_ loved having you in his lap," John hissed, tugging at Roger’s hair almost harshly. "But who took you home, in the end, Rog?"

 

Roger just moaned softly, until John tugged at his hair again, clearly expecting a reply. "You!" Roger gasped, scrambling for some purchase. "You did!"

 

"That’s right," Brian rumbled right into his ear, biting the lobe. "Because you’re so fucking desperate for our cocks, aren’t you? Already dripping, moaning like a whore." Roger gave a full body shudder in Brian’s arms, and Brian buried his face into Roger’s nape, hair tickling his nose as he inhaled the intoxicating smell of cigarette smoke and leather, mixed with sticky sweet alcohol and sweat. John met his gaze, heady desire matching his own. "Because you know no one is going to fuck as good as we do."

 

"Oh, god," Roger moaned. "Fuck, c’mon, you can have me, just please, I need –"

 

"You’ll get it, don’t worry," John promised, voice sweet and dark and full of promise. He tugged down Roger’s underwear fully, until he was standing gloriously naked between them, shivering slightly, their entry-way cooler than the rest of the house. John rolled a pebbled nipple thoughtfully between his fingers, and maybe it was the drugs and alcohol in Roger’s system, but he was even more responsive, sighing and gasping prettily even as he continued to shiver, goosebumps breaking out all over his arms and chest.

 

"We’ll warm you up, Rog," Brian said, gripping his hips tightly, rocking against his bare arse, making sure Roger could feel how hard he was. "Would you like that? Us warming you up, making you moan and sweat until nothing else matters anymore?"

 

"Please," Roger begged, words slurred. "Want it, want you so bad –" John slung an arm around Roger’s waist, other arm resting across Brian’s back, steering them determinedly further into their house. Briefly, Brian longed for the soft sheets and comfort of their bed, taking their time in making Roger absolutely lose it, but the underlying current of want was all-consuming, urgent, desperate, so instead of taking the long trek upstairs, he let John guide them towards their living room, suddenly regretting their choice in a sleek couch, their room to move significantly reduced.

 

Brian loved how demanding, how dominant John was being right now, even as he felt something not unlike spite rise; torn between wanting those hands on himself instead of Roger, wanting his own hands on Roger. They reached the couch, pushing Roger down unceremoniously, until he sitting down, facing them, craning his neck to look up at them under long eyelashes, naked legs spread wide.

 

He looked like everything Brian wanted, and he was going to _have_ him.

 

John reached down and batted Roger’s hand, which was lazily stroking his cock, away. "You’re not going to touch yourself until one of us tells you to," John said, and Brian felt himself shiver alongside Roger. He stroked over his lips with a thumb, before pressing past Roger’s lips. "On all fours," John continued, and Brian felt a dark thrill of satisfaction at how quick Roger was to obey.

 

"Do you remember," Brian said, taking in Roger with his back arched on their couch. "One of the first times you were with us? How you made John spread his pretty arse for me?" John looked up, blinking, while Roger whined into a pillow. "I think you already know what I want from you, yeah?" Roger remained completely still for a moment, before he shifted, hands reaching behind him to grip at his cheeks, not even hesitating as he spread them apart, giving John and him a _lovely_ view, face down into the couch, presenting himself with them towering over him

 

"Oh," John breathed, voice barely audible. "Look at that," he marveled, reaching out to stroke the flesh of one of Roger’s cheeks, before rubbing at his hole with two fingers, Roger almost immediately relaxing against the light pressure. "What a needy thing you are." A finger dipped curiously inside, and Roger made a sound between a moan and a hiss.

 

"Hurry, _please_ , Deaky, Bri –" Roger whimpered, hips shifting, as if looking for some, any friction.

 

John tutted, swatting at his arse, making Roger squeak. He held out three fingers out to Brian, who stepped closer. "Will you get these nice and wet for me, love?" John asked him, and Brian didn’t even pause, swallowing down on the digits hungrily, watching John’s face intently as he sucked on his lover’s fingers, moaning as he felt a broad hand wrap around his own cock. He cradled John’s wrist gently in his own hand, the other coming up to hold onto his hip. The next few moments melted together, Brian zeroing into every twitch in John’s beautiful face, humming around calloused fingers as others teased along his cock.

 

A desperate sob tore them away from each other. Roger was still in the position they had commanded him into, his face turned up to face them, glassy eyes looking at them desperately from behind messy hair falling into his face, most of his face mushed into the couch.

 

"Fuck, you’re really gagging for it, aren’t you?" Brian breathed, as John eased his fingers out of his mouth, a trail of spit still hanging between them. Roger nodded, pupils still impossibly wide as he seemed to almost vibrate.

 

"I think you need something to do," John said contemplatively as he lined himself up behind Roger, rubbing his still clothed cock against Roger’s spread cheeks, rocking him further into the couch. "Bri, love," John said, turning to him as he teased wet fingers along Roger’s rim, making him mewl. "Give Roger’s mouth something to do."

 

That was the best idea Brian had ever heard that night, long strides leading him to come stand next to Roger by the couch, leaning down to stroke through his hair gently, before Roger gasped, jerking upwards as John teased a finger inside. Brian gripped at Roger’s hair more firmly, and Roger seemed to really like _that_ , moaning like a whore as his eyes fluttered shut. Still holding his cheeks apart.

 

"You like this, don’t you?" Brian marveled, stepping close until the tip of his cock brushed against pink lips. "Like how we use you, how we touch you like you’re worth only what we give you, hm?" He lifted Roger up by his hair, until he was level with his cock, Brian now able to easily slide inside. Roger gagged around his cock as Brian slid further in, looking up at him through hooded eyes, tears already prickling at the corner of his eyes as Brian began fucking his mouth in earnest.

 

"Of course he does," John said, voice sounding strained. Brian tore away from Roger’s beautiful, dark blue eyes to look at his lover. John had already two fingers deep inside Roger, other hand firmly on Roger’s hips. "Look at how needy he is, already fucking back on my fingers."

 

And, Roger _was_. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, and the stretch must’ve still been _burning_ , but Roger’s moans around Brian’s cock took a downright frenzied turn as John held his fingers still, jerking his hips backwards for any friction. He finally let go of his cheeks, instead falling to better support himself.

 

"Fucking hell," John breathed. "Alright, I’ll give you what you want, _fuck_." John lined up a third finger, pressing it in alongside the other two, and Brian watched as if hypnotized as they smoothly disappeared inside Roger. Roger fisted his hands into one of the throw pillows, helplessly hanging between John’s probing fingers and Brian’s hand in his hair, his cock fucking into his lovely, warm mouth.

 

Time faded out of Brian’s perception as he continued to fuck into Roger’s welcoming, eager mouth, the little moans deliciously vibrating around his cock. His eyes had fallen shut at one point, and he was reduced to feel every micro-movement, Roger’s sweaty hair clinging to his fingers, his breath tickling Brian’s crotch with every forward-drag, droplets of sweat running down his own, overheated back.

 

Then he felt Roger surge forward, a wail ripping out of his throat as Brian’s cock slipped out of his mouth. Time restarted with a vengeance of burning _want_ as Brian watched John push inside Roger, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, hands bruisingly tight on Roger’s slender hips. Roger’s arms sagged, momentarily losing all strength to support him.

 

"Jesus," Brian whispered, grip going lax on Roger’s hair, making him slump down with a little whimper. "John, you’re so fucking impatient–"

 

"’s all good," John slurred, voice full of heat. "He feels like a dream, so fuckin’ tight, sucking my cock right in–"

 

"Fuck," Brian moaned, rubbing up and down Roger’s quivering back. Roger made a vague, content noise, face pressed into the couch.

 

John seemed frantic, pupils blown wide as he fucked into Roger with a brutal pace, breath hitching in his chest, as he stared at Brian. "Bri," John said. "Fuck, I’m so close, need you to kiss me –" Brian scrambled over, hands falling into John’s hair and yanking him close, wasting no time licking into his mouth and sucking into his mouth.

 

"You’re fucking horrible," Brian said breathlessly, fondly. "Couldn’t wait any longer, hm?"

 

"No," John whimpered, hips beginning to stutter. "Sorry, I –"

 

"Let me have a turn first," Brian demanded, hands tugging at John’s waist.

 

"Fine, _okay_ ," John grunted, looking vaguely annoyed, but let Brian drag him away from Roger, cock slipping out with an obscene squelch. Brian nudged him back, almost stumbling over John’s knees as he hurriedly lined himself up behind Roger, only pausing for a moment to rub the head of his cock against Roger’s pretty, glistening hole, before sliding in.

 

Under him, Roger arched off the couch with a drawn out whine, and Brian grabbed his upper arms, pulling him to his chest, almost coming on the spot as he bottomed out. He kept still for a moment, until Roger gave an impatient huff, hips jerking back against Brian.

 

" _Oh_ ," Brian moaned, gripping tighter around Roger’s arms. "You fucking brat, I’m going to fuck you until the only other cock you’ll ever crave is John’s," he hissed, beginning to move and establishing a pace almost as hard as John’s had been earlier, the different angle allowing him to hit Roger’s prostate continuously. From what Brian saw, Roger was drooling, beyond words now as tears streamed down his cheeks; Brian would’ve been worried, if not for the wanton sounds escaping Roger.

 

A hand fisted the hair at the back of his neck, John tugging his head close, lips just a breath away. "Feels amazing, doesn’t he? Prettiest thing you’ve ever had on your cock, and definitely the neediest." The words made Brian groan, the sound being swallowed by John’s searching tongue. Under him, Roger moaned weakly. John tore himself away, gazing at Brian intensely. "I want you to fuck him until you see stars, want you to fill him to the brim, and then I want to fuck your sloppy seconds."

 

" _Yeah_ ," Brian nodded blindly, increasing his pace until Roger was hanging limp in his hands like a ragdoll. "Fuck, that’s so good," he grunted, as he felt the tell-tale tingle of arousal spreading from his toes to his whole body, amplified tenfold in his current state. Then Roger clenched around him, either on purpose or not, and Brian _screamed_ , tossing his head back as he came, seeing white as his hips stuttered frantically into Roger, deeper and deeper, making Roger howl alongside him.

 

John cooed sweet filth into his ear, caressing the nape of his neck, until Brian’s racing heart calmed somewhat, letting go of Roger’s arms, who fell forwards, completely boneless, only occasionally twitching. His arms didn’t have enough strength to hold him up, and he fell flat down on the couch, only Brian’s hips and softening cock still inside him holding him up.

 

He eased out of Roger, John’s broad hands helping him along, steadying him. Roger slumped even further, cock still painfully hard as come dribbled down his thigh. Both him and John followed the trail of creamy white hungrily, and Brian’s spent cock gave an interested twitch.

 

John breathed out a teasing laugh, tugging at one of Brian’s sweat-matted curls. "And you call _me_ horrible," he teased. "Now, move aside, let me have him." John’s tone took a dark, promising turn, and Brian nodded, crawling away a bit to make room for John. John eagerly lined up, sliding in even smoother, Brian’s come easing the way much easier than before. From where he sat, Brian could see some come sticking to John’s cock whenever he slid out a bit, _and wasn’t that the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen_. The earlier high from the alcohol, the coke, and his orgasm dissipated slightly, making the room darken around the edges of his vision, making him feel pleasantly drowsy.

 

Still, he watched hungrily as John fucked Roger into their couch, one hand on already purpling hips, the other pushing his head down into the couch, hand fisted in his hair, occasionally tugging his head back, eliciting a wanton moan. Brian felt a surge of possessiveness at the red marks starkly visible on Roger’s upper arms. He couldn’t see Roger’s face, but he heard the whining moans pressed into the dark leather of their couch, and he did see a steady drop of pre-come dripping from Roger’s cock onto the couch. Brian was willing to bet his fortune that no one could make Roger lose it like this.

 

"You’re close, aren’t you, Rog?" John asked, bending over to cover Roger’s back completely. A soft moan was his only answer. "I can tell by the desperate clench of your arse," John continued. "I want you to come for me, for _us_ , only on my cock, with me fucking Brian’s come even deeper into you."

 

Roger sobbed quietly, seemingly completely out of it. "I know you can," John said – no, _commanded_. "Want to feel you come on my cock, love the squeeze of your pert little arse. _Now_ , Roger."

 

And, miraculously, Roger _did_ , John steadily fucking him through it. Roger made sounds Brian had never heard before, and he felt a brief pang of envy, wondering if getting fucked under the influence really felt that good, or if it was simply Roger. And then, Brian got treated to a view just as fantastic, John growling into the back of Roger’s neck, coming just moments after Roger, hips fucking into Roger’s overused hole in a frenzy.

 

They both looked absolutely stunning, and Brian felt a warm swell of _something_ in his chest, almost taking his breath away. John remained where he was for a long time, erratic breath pressed into Roger’s neck, until he eventually calmed, groaning as he heaved himself up, soft cock slipping out of Roger, a gush of come immediately following. Brian licked his lips.

 

Roger sagged down, now that no one was holding him up, face still pressed into a pillow, occasionally a shiver shaking his back. John had sat down next to him, still breathless, head pillowed on the backrest as he was staring at the ceiling, eyes unseeing. Brian fumbled for one of the discarded shirts, forcing himself to crawl over John to Roger, cleaning him up with the shirt as best as he was able in his state. Brian felt more tired than ever, limbs growing heavier by the second, and John didn’t seem far behind judging by his drooping eyes.

 

"C’mon, we can’t sleep here," Brian mumbled, shaking John’s shoulder. John grumbled, but blinked his eyes open, shifting to a more upright position. "Rog, c’mon, get up," Brian said, settling a hand on his hip. Roger didn’t say anything, didn’t move, but Brian was sure he was still awake, shoulders too tense for sleep.

 

"Shit, he’s really out of it," John said, gently patting at Roger’s hair. Roger breathed out a soft breath, head turning slightly, but otherwise didn’t respond. "I think we’ll have to carry him?" John said, unsure, words slurring together from how tired he was.

 

"Yeah, okay," Brian muttered, stumbling to his feet, almost falling on his face, legs trembling like a newborn fawn. John followed him on equally unsteady legs, both of them crowding near Roger, Brian grabbing under his shoulders, and John his calves.

 

They managed to get him off the couch exactly four inches, before John’s legs and Brian’s arms gave out simultaneously, John falling on his arse. Roger made a protesting, whimpery sound.

 

" _Fuck_ ," John said, then started to giggle hysterically, hiccupping in between breaths. "We are _so_ fucking pissed, fucking hell." Brian started to laugh quietly as well.

 

"I’m so sorry Rog," Brian patted at his back. "We uh, seem to be, er, unable to move you –" John started giggling louder, and Brian was reminded of an overtired toddler on a sugar rush. "–so we’ll go upstairs now, but please come up later, okay?" He helped John up, who stumbled again. John grabbed one of the fuzzy blankets, draping it haphazardly over Roger, before bending down to press a sloppy kiss between his shoulder blades. Roger didn’t even stir.

 

"Sorry ‘bout that, honey," John mumbled. "I’m not sure if I’ll make it upstairs myself, let alone with carrying you, and we can’t sleep here," he said, tucking the blanket in around him. "So come upstairs when you can move, yeah?" Again, there was no reaction from Roger, and maybe he really was asleep, despite the lingering tension in his shoulder and arms.

 

"C’mon, John," Brian mumbled. "He’ll join us later, but I _really_ need our bed like five minutes ago." John giggled again, slinging his arms around Brian, and together, they made the trek upstairs.

 

Brian didn’t even remember his cheek hitting the pillow.

 

.

 

After what felt like an eternity later, Brian woke up with the winter sun cheerfully shining in his face. He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

"Oh, _fuck me_ ," he moaned pitifully, turning his face to burrow into the pillow. Next to him, there was an equally pitiful moan answering him.

 

"Why the fuck did we drink so much?" John complained, shifting, and Brian moaned again, the slight movement making him aware of his killer headache.

 

"Don’t know. Someone turn off the sun, please." John snorted next to him, but suddenly reared up.

 

"The sun!" John exclaimed, in a full panic. Brian felt another, painful throb in his head.

 

"John, I love you, but I will kill you if you don’t shut the fuck up."

 

"No, _Brian_ , do you know how late it is if the sun is shining into our bedroom?" John was shaking him now, sounding unfairly alert.

 

"I don’t know," Brian grunted. "Maybe 5PM? ‘s Sunday, what does it matter?"

 

"Yes, _Brian_ ," John said tartly, tugging at his sheets. "It’s Sunday before Christmas, and where are we going today?"

 

Brian remained still for a moment, trying his best to think past the taste of a dead skunk in his mouth, before it hit him. " _Fuck_!" he yelled, rearing up, immediately shrinking back from the stab of lightning splitting his head. John nodded, wincing. "We’re going to Bali _today_!"

 

"Yes, and we haven’t even packed, yet," John muttered, stumbling over to their closet.

 

"Oh, fuck, we haven’t even told Freddie! Or – wait, where’s Roger?" Brian frowned, looking around.

 

"Probably still on the couch downstairs," John said, randomly pulling out clothing and tossing it over a chair. "And now get the fuck up."

 

.

 

After Brian had managed to stumble out of bed, John had pushed him into their shower, shaking his head when Brian had wanted him to join, claiming he was going to wake Roger and get started on coffee, which was a _splendid_ idea.

 

He felt much more like an actual human being after showering, and he stumbled downstairs after throwing on some jeans and a fuzzy sweater, the smell of coffee calling to him. He paused when he saw John sitting alone on the table, sipping on a cup, only one other cup ready. Brian blinked, craning his neck to look into the living room.

 

"Roger isn’t here," John mumbled softly, not looking up from his coffee.

 

"But –" Brian frowned, the coat that John had given Roger was still in the same spot they had tossed it yesterday, but Roger’s clothes were mostly missing; Brian thought he spotted underwear. "Oh, fuck, did he walk home still piss drunk?" He wondered, suddenly very worried.

 

"I don’t know," John said, finally looking up, face unreadable, but Brian knew him well enough to realize he was worried as well. "But the blanket was neatly folded, so maybe not."

 

And that. That could mean a plethora of things, none of which Brian exactly liked. "Well, I’ll just call him, then," Brian said, grabbing the coffee and making his way to the phone.

 

.

 

_Of course_ , Roger hadn’t picked up, if he even was home. John pointed out that calling Freddie would be equally fruitless, as he was never available for at least an entire day after one of his parties, even if this one hadn’t _technically_ been his.

 

All of it left a bad taste in Brian’s mouth that had nothing to do with their excesses from last night. It felt like he wasn’t seeing something, an itch in the back of his brain, driving him mad.

 

"Brian, calm down," John said, squeezing the last of their toiletries into their bag. "We’ll just leave them a note, yeah?"

 

"I know, it’s just –" warm, calloused hands cradled his face, making Brian pause.

 

"This is why we need this," John said gently. "We’re too caught up with everyone else–" _with Roger_ "–that we freak out when we go on a well-deserved vacation. Freddie and Roger are adults, they can handle themselves. Besides," John added, when Brian still didn’t stop chewing his lip. "Roger said he was going to his mum’s right after, didn’t he? He’s likely already there, or at least on his way there."

 

And, Roger _had_ said that. Brian felt relief at the knowledge that Roger was fine, and then startled at the intensity of it. John had the right of it all; they needed a break to get their heads on straight, and last night, as fuzzy as parts were, certainly hadn’t helped.

 

"Okay," Brian nodded. John smiled and leant up slightly to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

 

"Okay," John echoed, tugging him along. "You ready?"

 

"With you? Always," Brian said, the brilliant smile he got erasing any lingering doubt or worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P H E W
> 
> now that was a ride and a half, yeah? Please don't kill me, and remember, drugs and alcohol makes you do stupid things, and even the best people fuck up and act like assholes. All will be adressed in due time, I promise. 
> 
> Also, this writing streak feels great, pumping out 11k in a bit over 2 weeks ;). Leave me your thoughts.


	17. Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, 9k in barely two weeks, lets hope I keep this rhythm up, aye? 
> 
> ALSO Oh my God, so many kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and COMMENTS. I love you all. This fic is the longest thing I've ever written, and now it's pretty much the most popular one ahhhhhh I feel so loved. I think we might reach the 400 comments mark with this chapter? How awesome would that be!! 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing fine in this difficult situation, stay safe, and put your health first! Despite the slightly depressing tune of this chapter, I hope it'll cheer you all up or at least take your mind off for a while.
> 
> I want to add a very mild warning, there's a very brief mention of a miscarriage, but it's barely there. 
> 
> .
> 
> @tikini, how do I even begin to say thanks? You edited this chapter fantastically, and I'm so glad for your input and especially time you put into this, love ♥ You're a beautiful human being, and deserve the best.
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for indulging me for over a month on this and helping me on the plot a lot, and listening to my rambles ♥ Love you ♥ Ur the Shit.  
> PLS read her fic she's awesome.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for helping me with some scenes I wasn't sure about and for helping a dumbo like me put the pic into the fic below ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Roger startled awake with a pained gasp, wincing as the throw pillow stuck to his chin thanks to having drooled in his sleep. His head was pounding harder than him hitting his drums, but that wasn’t what had woken him.

 

His entire body hurt, muscles protesting his position, still face down on Brian’s and John’s couch. His arms were still folded tightly under him; arms and hips throbbing dully, as well as the skin near his neck. The worst though, was when he attempted to heave himself up on his arms, a sharp, not entirely unfamiliar stab of pain came from his arse, and he struggled to breathe for a moment

 

"Fuck," he whispered softly to himself, forcing himself to get on his hands and knees, the soft blanket tucked around him falling away, cool air hitting his naked skin, making him shiver. Roger closed his eyes, something like guilt and shame rising in him when he felt a trickle of come leaking out of him, mixing with the residue of dried spit and come on his skin, despite Brian’s efforts of cleaning him up. His hands flexed on the couch, but he forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath, before turning, shifting until his bare feet hit the carpet.

 

He stumbled to his feet, one hand still on the couch for balance, managing to walk on his own towards the downstairs bathroom, consciously not letting his thoughts wander further than the imminent task. He needed to sort out his thoughts, but not here.

 

The sight that greeted him in the mirror made him almost turn off the light.

 

He looked horrible, dark bags under his eyes, eyes rimmed with red from the drugs from earlier, his hair a huge fucking mess. Further down, there were hickeys and teeth marks littering his neck, shoulders and chest, bruises already forming on his upper arms and fresh ones covering the older ones already on his hips. Swallowing around the lump in his dried-out throat, he averted his eyes, reaching for a towel to clean off his face first, feeling marginally better after rubbing his skin red. Briefly, he contemplated the small shower longingly, but shook his head. Showers at night made him drowsy, and he felt a buzz under his skin, screaming at him to leave. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten John’s and Brian’s slurred words, telling him to join them in bed, knew they had meant it, too, but –

 

_No_.

 

Roger wanted to – not be here. Clenching his teeth, he cleaned himself off, forcing himself to not wince at the spike of pain when he cleaned between his cheeks, tossing the used towel into their hamper with only a mild look of disgust. Forgetting that he’d already arrived in the living room completely naked, he was about to turn away, when he was struck with the sudden urge to –

 

_To erase his presence_. Roger wasn’t sure what compelled him to fluff the decorative pillows and fold the fuzzy blanket neatly, but leaving the clothing from John and Brian where it was, before high-tailing it out of there.

 

The entryway was still cool, which made goosebumps break out all over Roger’s skin, and suddenly Brian’s words from earlier echoed in his head, a sound between a sob and a growl escaping him.

 

"We’ll warm you up, Rog. Would you like that? Us warming you up, making you moan and sweat until nothing else matters anymore?"

 

Roger punched the wall.

 

The skin broke easily on the stone, little splashes of blood spurting everywhere. Roger huffed, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil in his chest. He picked up his discarded shirt, wiping away the blood from the wall and the floor with it, before throwing it on, his underwear and jeans following hastily.

 

After throwing on his scarf, he bent down to reach for the coat, before stopping himself. He looked at the warm coat, warring with himself, before he shook his head and straightened up, instead opening the small wardrobe, remembering that John had thrown his leather jacket in there when he’d all but forced the coat on him. The jacket was neatly folded, and Roger grabbed it quickly, all but running for the door, the coat forgotten in its corner. Roger only barely remembered to lock the door with the spare key he had, turning to the bitterly cold winter night.

 

And, finally, Roger could _breathe_.

 

.

 

Upstairs, John turned in his sleep, pressing his face into Brian’s bony chest, eyes briefly fluttering open. He felt as if something had been disturbed, but his head was still swimming from booze and drugs, and he shut his eyes again, deciding it was a problem for sober John.

 

.

 

Five minutes later, Roger cursed his bout pettiness leaving the warm coat, because he was freezing his already tender balls off, the temperature below freezing, and at five AM on a Saturday, there was no cabbie being found anymore in this area, and the tube didn’t open again for another hour.

 

So, Roger walked, figuring it was better to keep moving than freeze even more waiting for the tube.

 

Smoking calmed him down somewhat, and combined with the frigid air, his head was finally clear of its headache. Unfortunately, along with the clearer mind, thoughts and impressions and memories from earlier creeped to the surface, making his chest ache.

 

Roger wanted to kick himself for feeling so desolate in the first place. John and Brian had been beyond pissed, clearly their tolerance for coke much lower than his own. He could admit to himself that being left there unattended after such a thorough fucking didn’t feel particularly good. Roger couldn’t help but feeling used, and it was completely out of tune with how they had treated him before.

 

But, John and Brian had been acting off all week since Sunday, and if Roger didn’t know better, he’d say they had almost seemed jealous.

 

Roger _did_ know better.

 

He was aware that Brian had never been with a man before John, and then him. He knew John had only had experienced some very brief dabbles with only a few other men. They had both been inexperienced, almost adorably so. That was why Roger had been so adamant on keeping his distance, why he had wanted to treat this like business only. Lines got muddled so very easily, and they had possibly grown more attached than they had anticipated, which had shown itself in their behavior these past few days.

 

He rubbed his hand over his face, the friction unpleasant against his frozen, numb nose.

 

Roger should have known better; it hadn’t been a good idea in the first place, and after giving up control more and more until completely surrendering it last Sunday, his own lines had gotten blurred as well. Instead of helping them, he’d fucked up.

 

If anything, he was glad that tonight had happened; it was clear again where he stood, with them and with himself.

 

Now he just needed to get over himself.

 

.

 

John was dreaming, something silly about a dinosaur wearing a tutu, but it didn’t matter. He felt so warm, so content, so sated, that whatever was niggling somewhere at the back of his mind could be ignored, in favor of watching Brian dance with hedgehogs.

 

.

 

Roger almost cried with relief when he finally arrived home, Ziggy anxiously greeting him. The easy affection from his cat made tears well from his eyes suddenly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing them away. He hugged the fluffy cat tightly to his chest, burying his face into the soft fur. Ziggy, not usually fond of being hugged, held still, purring up a storm.

 

Fuck, but he loved his cat.

 

He moved to his kitchen to feed her, and maybe scrounge something up for himself, when he spotted the small cardboard box Dom had brought over this week.

 

And. No thanks.

 

He wasn’t going to deal with _that_ on top of everything else, tonight.

 

After feeding Ziggy, he fell into bed, exhausted down to the bone, with Ziggy curled up next to his head, one paw in his hair, dawnlight filtering blearily through his curtains.

 

Sleep didn’t come for a long time.

 

.

 

John couldn’t fucking believe they almost overslept for their holiday. He herded Brian to the shower, ignoring his own pounding head in favor of his dire need for coffee. Arriving downstairs, he frowned at the couch, empty of their drummer, everything but their clothes put neatly back as if Roger had never been there in the first place.

 

.

 

Roger was woken up hours later by the shrill ringing of his phone.

 

"Oh, fuck _off_!" Roger yelled into the pillow, Ziggy startling and jumping off the bed with a huff. Thankfully, the phone stopped ringing after a few minutes. If Roger’d had any more energy left, he would’ve got up to rip the damn phone off the hook and tossed it out of the window, but with every movement last night’s activities made themselves known with a vengeance.

 

He was getting old, he thought with a sardonic smile.

 

He was just about to drift back off to sleep, _when_ _the fucking phone rang again_. Snarling, he shot off the bed, ignoring his aching body in favor of stalking down the hallway to the phone. It stopped ringing when he was half a second away from picking it up. Fucking typical.

 

But then the answering machine briefly crackled to life, only for a few seconds, someone fumbling with the receiver, and Roger could’ve sworn he heard a mumbled ‘ _fuck’_ , before the call cut off.

 

It had been Brian. Roger focused on breathing, head falling forward to rest against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing himself not to fucking lose it right then and there. His eyes felt hot, and his breathing coming in short gasps, and he slapped his palm against the wall, once, twice, snarling at himself, so he didn’t have to do something unnecessarily like sob.

 

Then the phone rang _again_.

 

Lightning fast, he picked up the receiver, not even thinking. "What the fuck do you _want_?" he snapped into the receiver.

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

"Is that any way to greet your dear mother, Roger Meddows?" Roger felt his insides freeze, but at the same time, something in him relaxed.

 

"Oh, f– uh. Hello, mother dearest?" He said carefully. His mother sighed. "Sorry, I thought you were – someone else."

 

"I should hope so," his mother replied sternly, but there was a faint note of amusement in her voice. "Dear, why are you still home? I thought you were coming today? It’s after five in the afternoon."

 

Was it? Roger squinted blindly at his wall clock.

 

"Ah, mum, I’m sorry, there was uh, a – a small party yesterday, and I think I forgot the time," he said, voice wavering a bit. His mother hummed.

 

"I expect you for dinner, love," she replied, sounding unforgiving. "Your sister, and especially the girls are very eager to see you." And there it was, the neutral tone of disappointment. Roger winced.

 

"Alright, I’ll hit the road in about half an hour, yeah? Do you need me to bring anything?"

 

"Just yourself, love," his mother replied, a smile in her voice. "We _have_ missed you."

 

"I know, I miss you too," Roger said softly.

 

"Drive safely, sweetling."

 

"I will. Love you, mum."

 

.

 

Somewhere in his mind, John knew that he should follow his gut, Roger’s abrupt disappearance not sitting entirely well with him. He squashed it down in favor of calming Brian down, refocusing their minds and energy to their trip which they were _horribly late for_.

 

.

 

Driving was something that always, without fail, managed to simultaneously cool Roger off and put everything in perspective.

 

Roger was an idiot.

 

He’d let himself get caught up in _Brian-and-John_ , had gotten used to having them around, to _have_ them. Roger was certain that it was due to the lingering loneliness and bitterness from his break-up with Dom that had made him wobble like this. And now they all had paid for it, confusing his best friends, using their freely given affections and warmth for himself, causing himself some sleepless nights.

 

Well, he’d gotten a reality check, all right.

 

And now, he’d had to squash this stream of hope, ridiculous as it already was, ridding himself of the feeling as if a foreign presence –

 

Roger blinked, almost swerved, lucky there were close to no cars on the road. He quickly drove for the side lane, already fumbling with a notepad and pen he kept in his car, beginning to scribble down hasty lyrics.

 

Seemed like something useful could come out of this huge mess.

 

.

 

Somehow, miraculously, Brian and he had made it just in time to the airport, even with stopping by their studio shortly. Being wealthy rock stars definitely had its perks, flying first class in wide, comfortable seats that reclined all the way to a bed being one of them. Exhaustion was buzzing under both of their skin, but both remained awake until almost an hour in after take-off, Brian tenderly cradling his hand in his slender, larger one, threading their fingers together and pulling John’s close, occasionally pressing a dry kiss to his knuckles.

 

Each time, John’s heart felt like it was soaring, expanding in his chest. They didn’t look away from each other even once, and it felt like those weeks before they got together; longing looks, dancing around each other, closer every day, the anticipation of something new just around the corner. Hidden away from prying gazes, John leant over, pressing a kiss to Brian’s brow, to his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips.

 

They didn’t need words.

 

As the plane took them further away from their home, everything but Brian fell away.

 

John was ridiculously happy.

 

.

 

His mother greeted him with the fucking best hug Roger had gotten in a long time, and he almost started to bawl right then and there on her front porch, with his sister and her daughters watching. He managed to just barely refrain himself.

 

"Oh, don’t you look ghastly!" His mother tutted, rubbing a thumb over his impressive eye bags. "And you sound terrible, as well. Come, let us get you something for your poor throat." Roger was powerless to his mother’s – well, _everything_. He followed her like a little puppy, letting her tut and sigh at him, before she bustled off to the kitchen.

 

"You too, huh?" Clare grinned, depositing her toddler in his lap, who grinned up at him with a toothy grin. "You do look a bit worse for wear, Roggie."

 

"Well you know how it is," he waved with his free hand. "It’s very exhausting being a rock star, signing autographs, looking pretty, etcetera." Clare rolled her eyes, hitting him upside the head.

 

"Well, try to look lively, because mum invited auntie Marge for tea tomorrow."

 

"Oh f– _fiddlesticks_ ," Roger groaned, remembering the toddler in his lap last second. "Isn’t she dead yet?"

 

"Roger!" His sister hissed. "Don’t let mum hear you," she whispered, looking to the kitchen.

 

"Yeah, right," Roger winced. His mother had always turned a blind eye to her sisters’ many faults over the years. Marge was a particularly unpleasant woman, and she always had something negative to say; and she did have _a lot_ to say.

 

"You can take out Sara for a walk in her stroller tomorrow, if you like," Clare offered. Since Clare had gotten married (and subsequently divorced), and had produced some kids, their aunt had let up on Clare, deeming her to ‘have finally found her place in society’.

 

Roger, with his fleeting relationship, no children (even out of wedlock, like aunt Marge had secretly hoped) and his lavish lifestyle, Roger was her favorite to pick apart.

 

"I might take you up on that," Roger mumbled. Clare patted him on his shoulder in sympathy.

 

"Now, why _do_ you look like you were put through the wringer? And don’t think I didn’t notice you not taking off that huge scarf, brother dearest."

 

Roger groaned.

 

.

 

John must’ve had fallen asleep at some point, because he was woken by calloused fingers tracing his face tenderly.

 

"Hey," he whispered, blinking his eyes open. Brian smiled softly down at him. "What time ‘s it?"

 

"I don’t know," Brian said, voice hushed, and now John realized the sky was dark, the lights dimmed. "Does it matter?"

 

"No," John replied. "It doesn’t matter as long as you’re with me."

 

.

 

It felt strange, being in his own childhood bedroom, everything from his teenage years still preserved in time like in a museum. After dinner, and evading Clare’s probing looks and questions whenever their mother didn’t look, Roger had excused himself early, and his mother, bless her, had sent him up with a whole thermos of tea and some ibuprofen, demanding he’d get some rest.

 

He’d spent the better part of an hour reacquainting himself with his old life, feeling both nostalgic and amused, while ignoring the tea and ibuprofen. He wasn’t sick, just hungover and exhausted.

 

Eventually, though, he was done circling around his room and pulling out various things for inspection, and his thoughts took another, more maudlin turn. Determined, he took out his notebook again, attempting to redirect his thoughts into something more productive, but he gave up after a few scribbled lines, instead pillowing his head on his arms, looking out of the window into the darkness of the night.

 

Sleep didn’t come this night either, despite the ache in his limbs dragging him down, making him drowsy, blurring the edges of his vision with black.

 

.

 

"You know," John said conversationally, after Brian had finger-fed him another apple slice, chasing the juice dripping from his fingers. "I think we’ve yet have to join the mile-high club, don’t we?"

 

"Oh," Brian said, setting down the rest of the food, eyes growing dark. John grinned in victory.

 

Fifteen minutes later, John was fucking Brian up against the wall of the small bathroom stall, his long legs wound tight against his hips, and John was treated to a gorgeous view; pretty curls flying wildly around his head, and John thanked his lucky stars they’d packed lube in their hand-luggage, Brian’s hole open and slick around him, and so fucking warm and tight. He grunted, panting into Brian’s chest, mouthing at the skin there.

 

"John, love, I – I – _ah_!" Brian mewled, tightening around him as he came, soiling John’s shirt and his own in the process.

 

"Fuck, Brian, Bri, love you, love you–" John cut off as he followed just seconds after, eyes squeezed shut as he bit on a bite-mark already there, fucking through his orgasm relentlessly, kneading Brian’s tiny arse.

 

"Oh, you’re perfect," Brian sighed, languid and content. Sated. And then light fell through the window, and John realized the sun was rising wherever they were flying over, illuminating Brian until he was almost glowing in the golden morning light.

 

John fell in love all over again.

 

.

 

Sunday rolled in with his aunt Marge arriving for brunch, and after she’d nitpicked everything from what Roger was wearing, the ‘state’ of his mother’s home, and Clare’s newer status as a divorced woman, she’d sat down with tea and biscuits, sniffing at the children with disdain, despite them being on their very best behavior, likely picking up the tense mood rolling off from Clare.

 

"So, Roger," Marge said saccharine sweet, and Roger braced himself. "I hear you’ve ran off your lovely girlfriend, Dominique, was it?"

 

Roger exhaled through his nose. "We broke up, yes," he said through clenched teeth.

 

"Such a shame, too," Marge nodded, beady eyes glued to his face. "She was good for you, you know? Seemed like you would finally settle down, but well," she took a delicate sip of her over-sugared tea. "I suppose with your – _lifestyle_ , it’s really a lost cause." She looked at his neck pointedly, and despite the sweater he was wearing, and his hair covering most of it, Roger was aware that the purpling marks were _very_ much visible. "I see you’re back to your usual, ah, _gaming_ ways."

 

Roger felt himself freeze, even as his mother rebuked her sister and Clare glared her down.

 

"Marge, really," his mother snapped, setting down her teacup with a loud clink. "There’s no need for that, and what Roger, or Clare, do with their lives doesn’t matter as long as they’re happy."

 

His aunt, however, wasn’t done yet. "I can forgive a divorce – after all, not all men are cut out for a family life, even if Henry is a good man," she said, and, well. His sister’s ex-husband had been a drinking, gambling asshole, and he felt anger rise on her behalf. "But, your son’s decadent, harlot way of living his life? I wonder if he’s even capable of love–"

 

"I’m going for a walk," Roger said abruptly, only barely not running out of the room.

 

.

 

After hours of flighty, they’d finally touched down in Bali, the warm climate welcoming John like a lover’s embrace. Not that he was lacking a lover, John mused, Brian firmly attached to his side, steering them to the exit to collect their luggage with a new bounce in his step, full of joyful energy. Right then, Brian could’ve lead John to the ends of the world, and John would’ve followed.

 

(With only mild complaining).

.

 

He could honestly say this shaped up to be the worst week he’d ever experienced, Roger mused as he kicked up some snow, staring at the grey sky. He was on his way back, and hopefully, Marge was gone by now, as Roger had spent the better part of the afternoon outside, wrangling his feelings into something more resembling his usual state.

 

He was here to have a good time, goddamnit, and fuck everything, fuck Brian and John, fuck his aunt, he was going to have _a fucking grand time_.

 

.

 

Their small cottage that Brian had managed to scrounge up was small, with wet stains on the ceiling, and a kitchen that had definitely seen better days.

 

It was perfect.

 

They’d left their luggage carelessly in the hallway, exploring the two-bedroom cottage, the bathroom with the tiny tub, the living room with the telly from the fifties and the discolored, worn-out couch. The warm climate was a stark contrast from the bitter, lingering cold of London they’d left behind, warm wind filtering through the open windows, the curtains billowing gently.

 

The tiny lady, which apparently owned the entire complex, explained to them the ins and outs in heavily accented English, bustling around the house with them following her. She didn’t bat an eye at their closeness, instead brusquely informing them there was plenty of lube in the bathroom cabinet as she took her leave, leaving behind a flame-faced Brian, while John himself couldn’t help but giggle hysterically.

 

"So," Brian said, after calming down, crowding John against the next wall. "We have lube."

 

"So it seems," John said, looking up at him.

 

"And we’re alone."

 

"We are," John nodded breathlessly.

 

"And we have three weeks ahead of us," Briand rumbled, crowding even closer, lips brushing against John’s.

 

"Uh-huh," John got out. "Any plans, lover?"

 

Brian hummed, a devious glint entering his eyes. "Oh, I can think of a few things."

 

Needless to say, John got very well acquainted with the rickety dresser in the hallway.

 

.

 

His aunt was gone by the time he arrived home after aimlessly wandering the fields and small woods near his childhood home, and his mother greeted him with a hug, which Roger melted into. His sister’s face was one of grim satisfaction, and Roger learned she’d apparently had a few choice words to say to dear aunt Marge, who had left scarlet-faced and in a right state.

 

"Don’t listen to that cunt," Clare told him later, their mother busy readying her children for bed upstairs. "Mum was right, it doesn’t matter who you’re with or how many, as long as you’re happy."

 

"I know," Roger said. "I just left before I clocked her right in her ugly face."

 

Clare hummed. "But, are you? Happy, I mean?" She asked him, and Roger looked away, unable to meet her probing eyes. "Because, you seem – a bit wore down, you know?" She worried her bottom lip.

 

"I’ve been a bit of a downer, haven’t I?" Roger mumbled, curling up on the sofa, staring down at his hands. "There’s just – a lot happening, and I haven’t been, you know, coping well."

 

It wasn’t even a lie; he hadn’t been coping, from the unopened box Dom had left him, to John and Brian, even with recording their album, everything.

 

"I just wanted to escape it for a few days," he eventually added.

 

She remained silent for a long moment. "If you’re sure," she sighed, squeezing his hand.

 

Roger nodded, so he didn’t have to tell another lie.

 

.

 

John could stay here forever.

 

Yes, they’d only arrived half a day ago, hadn’t gone out further than the small garden and small pool, and had been lazing in the bed for almost two hours, but John loved it here.

 

Loved the freedom of just getting away from it all, all their worries seemingly insignificant, all that mattered was Brian and him, rediscovering everything about each other, in this tiny, worn-down space that belonged only to them for the next three weeks.

 

_Brian_ belonged to him for the next three weeks.

 

John felt a surge of possessiveness, and he rolled himself on top of Brian with one smooth motion, pushing the food aside.

 

"You’re insatiable," Brian purred, looking anything _but_ put out.

 

"Can’t help it," John replied, nipping at Brian’s neck, suckling another mark into the pale skin. "You’re so lovely, so pretty," he told Brian, who shivered, cheeks flushed. John rolled his hips, rutting against Brian’s leg. "And you’re all mine for these next few weeks, aren’t you, lovely thing?"

 

"Yeah," Brian moaned. "All yours."

 

"The things I’m going to do to you," John purred, rolling his hips and watching with satisfaction as Brian arched his back, legs falling open. "I’m going to fuck you on and against every surface in this cottage. You’re going to do the same, until I know how many groves and scratches the kitchen table has." Brian snorted out a breathless laugh. "And I’ll have you outside too, eat you out on the beach, with sand stuck in every crevice–"

 

"That doesn’t sound very comfortable," Brian interrupted.

 

"Hush," John said, holding a finger to Brian’s lips, which was immediately sucked into that lovely mouth. "It’s about knowing who’s had you, who’s responsible for every itch, every little mark, every grain of sand you find months later still."

 

You’re mine. No one else’s. You belong to me, I belong to you. We’re perfect for each other, made for each other, a part of me I didn’t know I wanted, or needed, but now I can’t live without you.

 

John leant down and took his claim.

 

.

 

Monday rolled in much more relaxed, and the sky was clear today, so they went out to play with the children in the snow.

 

By the time lunch rolled around, Roger had cheered up immensely. Clare’s little girls constantly demanded his attention, their giddy mood getting hold of him as well, so much that his cheeks were hurting, both from the biting cold and smiling.

 

Then his mother called him inside, apparently a call waiting for him.

 

"Yeah?" He grunted into the phone, absentmindedly brushing snow out of his hair.

 

"Rog," Freddie’s voice answered him. "You won’t fucking believe what I just found out."

 

"Fred?" Roger muttered, frowning. Freddie sounded right down furious.

 

"Yeah, sorry for interrupting your family time." And he did sound truly apologetic. "But I didn’t want to keep you out of the loop, dear. Not the same as those other two pricks," he added in a vicious mutter.

 

"Are –" Roger swallowed. "Do you mean Bri and Deaky?" he asked, willing himself to not sound weird about it. He didn’t know if he succeeded, but Freddie seemed too wound up to notice.

 

"Can you believe," Freddie began. "That these pricks are currently enjoying drinks at a beach in fucking _Bali_ , apparently?"

 

" _What_?" Roger asked.

 

"Oh, yes," Freddie replied. "Went to the studio to pick up a few things today, and found a lovely little note on a cheery yellow post-it on their fucking instruments, reading ‘ _Gone to Bali. Be back in three weeks’_. Can you fucking _believe_ them?"

 

Roger’s throat wasn’t working. Dimly, he was aware that Freddie was still talking, but it was as if he’d been submerged in icy water. They had –

 

They hadn’t said anything, about leaving, and they’d had plenty of chances, hadn’t they?

 

They had just fucking _left_.

 

"Rog?" Freddie interrupted his own rant, when he got no reply. "You still there?"

 

Roger had to swallow a few times, before he managed to get his voice working again. "Uh, y – yeah, sorry. I –" he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

 

"Roger, you sound strange," Freddie said, anger in his voice dissipating, instead beginning to sound worried. "Are you alright?"

 

Roger felt heat prickle behind his eyes, and when had he even closed them? "Sure," he mumbled into the receiver. "Sorry, Freddie, you caught me a bit on a bad time," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue easily.

 

"Alright," Freddie said slowly. "I’m heading off first thing tomorrow to Jim’s family, but you call me there if something’s up, alright?" Freddie insisted.

 

"Sure," Roger said again. "Enjoy your stay there, yeah? Impressing the parents is very important."

 

"I’m thirty-six, not six _teen_ ," Freddie snorted. "And I will. You too, hm?"

 

"Of course," Roger nodded, blinking at the faded wallpaper, eyes unseeing.

 

"And we’ll do something for New Year’s eve, just us, yeah? Get properly sloshed and trash-talk the other two idiots."

 

The reminder was really not what Roger needed, but he soldiered on. "I’m in," he said, trying to sound cheery.

 

"Alright, then," Freddie said, a lingering hesitation present. "Take care, lovie."

 

"You too," Roger croaked out.

 

Finally, the line crackled shut, and Roger breathed, in, out, in again.

 

He couldn’t punch the wall at his mother’s, but damn if he didn’t want to. He was helpless to the feeling of being used, as if he simply hadn’t _mattered_. At all. He knew it was irrational to resent them, after all, John and Brian weren’t responsible for his feelings, but –

 

But.

 

.

 

He made good on his promise the very next day, laying Brian out on a huge towel on their apparently private beach (and how convenient was that?), tugged the swim trunks off him, and spent hours eating Brian out, fingering him while he kissed down Brian’s chest, sucking him dry, and only after Brian’s third orgasm John was forced onto his back, Brian straddling him with a red face, tears streaking down his cheeks.

 

John loved this, the blazing sun still filtering through their parasol, the air salty from the ocean wind, Brian above him, their sweat mingling until their skin kept getting stuck with each slap of skin, John’s chest scratched raw from Brian’s blunt nails.

 

And only when they’d both had their fill, the sun too high in the sky to be comfortable, they packed up, escaping into the cool of their cottage. John felt drunk, and either the sun had gotten to him, or the love John had for Brian had gotten fanned all over again, more intense than the first time they had kissed, after months of dancing around each other, and the time that followed after.

 

For John, it was proof that they could, indeed, _work_. In this state of hazed bliss, John could finally admit to himself that during the months following their tour, moving in together, recording the new album, he’d begun to have doubts. He’d been afraid to admit that Brian’s absentmindedness, and frankly, arrogance, paired with John’s own temper and need for security and rationality would be what would undo them, no matter how much they loved each other. That, John had never doubted, not even for a second.

 

Not even when he suggested they ask Roger to help them out.

 

And suddenly, his jealousy of Brian, of Roger, the fear of being excluded, made sense, but at the same time, John felt silly for it. Roger was bright, of _course_ they’d got caught up in it, in the pure magnetism that was Roger Meddows Taylor.

 

Tracing every inch of Brian’s sunburnt skin with his hands, his lips, his tongue, John felt regret filling him. He didn’t regret asking Roger to help them, even if he felt he should. But, he had risked their friendship with Roger, and John –

 

He’d acted so horribly towards Roger, trying to make their thing something it wasn’t. Roger had his own life, and John had no right to ask him to share his joy or his sorrow if he didn’t want to, even if John still felt the bitter sting of rejection by it, still felt that pesky, irrational _jealousy_.

 

Then, Brian sighed out a moan, barely above a whisper, and John focused his attention on more pressing matters.

 

.

 

"You know, the steak is already quite dead, no matter how much you glare at it," Clare said loftily, making her two girls giggle and his mother hide a smile behind her glass of wine.

 

"Thanks, _Clary_ ," Roger replied in the same tone, stabbing the piece of meat viciously just to be contrite. His sister glared back, sneering at the nickname.

 

"Oh, you’ve been in a right mood since yesterday," his mother butted in, quelling the impending squabble. "Unless it’s something that cannot absolutely wait, I’d like my sweet sunshine boy back, instead of this moody gremlin," she continued, and Roger choked on a carrot, Clare trying to disguise her manic giggle with a serious of coughs. Then, she seemed to _actually_ choke on a potato, and Roger gleefully batted at her back with more force than strictly necessary.

 

"Oh, you f– effing menace, f–fudge off," Clare snapped, breath wheezy, slapping his hand away. Roger cackled. Clare’s girls where giggling uncontrollably next to them, and Roger shot them a wink.

 

"That’s better," his mother said, patting his cheek. "Now the day is that much brighter, see, sunshine?"

 

" _Mum_ ," Roger groaned, feeling like he was seven again, face flaming red. His mother just smiled and turned to help Susie, still having trouble with the fork at only two years old. With their mother’s attention diverted, Clare lobbed a carrot at Roger’s head.

 

"What," Roger muttered, pretending to rub his eye with his middle finger.

 

"Mum has a point," Clare said quietly, suddenly serious. "You’ve been really _off_."

 

"I know, I’m sorry," Roger mumbled.

 

"I don’t want you to be _sorry_ , I want to know what’s going on," Clare replied, tugging at his hair. "I’ve never seen you like this, even after you and Dom had just broken up," she elaborated.

 

"Honestly, I don’t know, I’ve just – felt really shitty," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

 

"Maybe you should think about that," his sister suggested.

 

And.

 

It’s not like Roger hadn’t. In fact, it was pretty much all he managed to think about, whenever he thought himself thoroughly distracted, his thoughts crept back to John and Brian, an endless spiral of feelings and memories, leaving him dizzy. It didn’t help that the alcohol and coke binge still lingered, making his limbs heavy with exhaustion, dragging him back with every movement.

 

In general, Roger wanted to sleep for the next few years, hoping his useless feelings had disappeared into the void by then.

 

Roger rubbed his face tiredly, turning in his bed for the umpteenth time. His thoughts couldn’t help but wander, imagining all the things Brian and John were up to, sporting only their swim trunks, bathed in the warm sun, both glowing and _happy_.

 

Without Roger.

 

The thought was fucking depressing, squeezing all the breath out of Roger’s chest, and yet, the images conjured by yours truly, of them being practically naked in a tropical environment, made his cock stand to attention, warring with the choking pressure in his chest.

 

Roger turned, pressing his face into his pillow in an attempt to smother himself. He was _not_ going to beat off to two people he felt this conflicted about, especially two of his bandmates. And certainly not in his childhood bedroom, his mother only feet away, divided only by a thin wall.

 

He was an adult. He could do this.

 

Five minutes of trying to think horrible thoughts, and he sighed, defeated, and turned on his back again, hand already down his pants.

 

He was decidedly _not_ thinking about anyone in particular.

 

And if his eyes blurred halfway in, well.

 

No one but Roger was around to witness it.

 

.

 

On Christmas, Brian and John hit the local markets, spending hours admiring everything from spices and sweets, to trinkets and souvenirs, and fabrics. Brian already had both arms full with bags, fascinated by everything, and certainly lacking no money to spend. John didn’t feel particularly inclined to buy much, but he had found a small, wood carved statue with very – _exaggerated_ genitals, and he bought it because he knew Freddie would laugh his arse off at the sight of it, before probably putting it right on the dresser in his entryway, for everyone to see.

 

He followed Brian around, a few steps behind, mostly just sightseeing, when he spied something, immediately making a beeline for it. Brian turned, confused, but followed him nonetheless, determined not to lose him in the crowd. John was holding the soft, almost velvety fabric in his hands before he fully thought about why he’d felt so drawn to it.

 

The fabric was a deep red, almost black color, that shone brilliantly in the bright light, but otherwise was unobtrusive. The texture was like a sheep’s arse, cloudy and soft, yet John could tell it would probably be very warm if worn.

 

It would also contrast Roger’s blue eyes stunningly.

 

"You like it?" a young girl manning the stand asked, moving closer. "It’s a very good fabric, sturdy, too," she told them, smiling. "Would make a very nice dress for a girlfriend?" She asked.

 

"Uh," John said. "No, for a friend?" Her eyes slid to Brian briefly, who was watching on curiously, nodding to herself. "Can you –" he stopped, looking down at the beautiful fabric for a moment, thumb caressing over it. "Can you make it a coat? For winter?"

 

The girl was already nodding enthusiastically. "With his measurements?" She asked, pointing at Brian, already sizing him up.

 

"No, more like, me? But, shorter," he added, smiling to himself at the thought of Roger tucked against him, squeezed between him and Brian. The girl was nodding again, turning to get a notepad.

 

"For Roger?" Brian stated, reaching out to touch the fabric as well.

 

"Yeah," John shrugged. "He forgot his coat and, well." Honestly, he didn’t know how to continue, but Brian seemed to understand, nodding.

 

"It’ll look amazing on him," Brian agreed.

 

John nodded, still playing with the hem of the fabric, lost in thought. They didn’t usually give each other presents on Christmas, the rule originating from their days where they barely could afford toast, let alone gifts. However, something had just clicked when he’d seen the fabric gleaming in the sun, and, Roger likely walking all the way home on a freezing December night, without the coat left John feeling uneasy whenever he thought about it.

 

Besides, Roger had always liked pretty things.

 

.

 

Roger did his very best to be cheerful on Christmas, not wanting to spoil any more of their days together. Mostly, he seemed to succeed, the girls not catching on, though Roger found children were unusually perceptive to moods. His sister seemed content to give him the benefit of the doubt, roping him into playing a vicious game of monopoly with Sara and their mother.

 

After the game, Clare didn’t speak to him for a full hour.

 

Instead, his mother sat down next to him when he was flipping through the channels, nothing really catching his attention. The girls were upstairs for their afternoon nap, and Clare was – _somewhere_ , and Roger was alone with his mum for the first time in three days.

 

"So," his mother spoke up, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her skirt. Her tone made Roger sit up straight. "Want to tell me what’s been going on with you?" Her tone was kind, but booked no room for argument. Roger was trapped.

 

"Just, life, mum," he shrugged. "The album’s really stressing everyone out, and management is on our ars– on our case, and well." He trailed off.

 

His mother just hummed, looking at him with a waiting expression. "And I’ve been still kind of hung up on Dom–"

 

"Poppycock," his mother said. Roger stared, forgetting how his lungs were supposed to work. "Oh, please," she added dismissively at his goldfish-look. "You could turn fifty and I would still be able to smell one of your lies a mile away. You’re not hung up on Dominique, not anymore," she informed him.

 

"I –" he began, before shaking his head. "No, but I do still feel –"

 

"You feel regret," she told him bluntly. "It didn’t work because of something you did, and now you’re hung up on this idea, for all the wrong reasons. But you don’t love her anymore. And maybe you do need closure, but I think you’ve been feeling _other_ things as of late, hm?" She tugged at his collar, lightning fast, revealing a few of his bruises littered on his collarbones and neck. "Someone new."

 

" _Mum_ ," Roger hissed, tugging the collar up again, ignoring his racing heart. "It doesn’t matter, it was just a – a fleeting something. It’s already done and over with."

 

His mother regarded him for a long moment. "If you say so," she said at last, not looking like she believed him for a second. "But, sweetling?" He looked up, ignoring his clenched hands, focusing on taking even breaths. "Perhaps you should stop being so good at lying to yourself, for a change." His mother patted his leg, getting up.

 

Roger sat, with the now familiar burning in his chest, ignoring everything his mind was screaming at him.

 

This was nothing. His mother was wrong.

 

Everything was going to be _fine_.

 

He ignored the burning in his lungs.

 

.

 

Christmas, or rather, Christmas night would be forever etched into John’s memory.

 

Brian had apparently found a sex shop, of all things, while John had been busy with one of the vendors, and had had quite the haul. Brian’s grin was positively diabolic when he pulled out rope, something brightly colored that John was sure would vibrate, and a fucking cock-ring.

 

John swallowed, mouth dry, already feeling his cock stir. Brian smirked, eyes full of promise, untangling the rope.

 

.

 

Roger was almost relieved to pack up to go home, despite both Clare and his mother asking him multiple times to stay a bit longer, roping the girls into it, and Roger, almost, almost making Roger give in.

 

But.

 

Roger needed some time for himself, desperate to either sort his thoughts out or drown his misery with booze. Despite that Roger had been happy to see his family, their presence soothing, he was still restless, still felt like utter shit, growing more exhausted by the minute.

 

He needed a fucking break.

 

The relief he felt to be finally on the road, alone, away from them. made him feel almost guilty, the care-package his mother had given him secured in the backseat. And, maybe the tissues she left him were not as useless as Roger had initially thought, because he had been sniffling non-stop for the entire drive. It didn’t stop even when he got home, despite inhaling two cups of tea with Ziggy snuggled on his lap, purring like mad.

 

He sighed, setting the empty tea cup aside, transferring his cat to one of the pillows with utter care. Ziggy just stirred to curl tighter into herself, a contented breath escaping her. Roger smiled weakly, before he leant forward on the couch, elbows braced heavily on his knees. And his throat was still aching, but now there was a familiar tightness around his heart, because it had barely been a week when he’d slept with John and Brian on this very couch. Memories surged up like a titanic wave, threatening to swallow him up.

 

Roger slapped his hands to his cheeks, _hard_.

 

The sharp pain was a welcome distraction from the sting behind his eyes, and he sagged down even further, burying his face in his hands.

 

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_ He couldn’t imagine being so hung up on his damn _bandmates_ , for fuck’s sake. This was even _worse_ than after Dom, and _everything_ had hurt, then.

 

Unbidden, his eyes wandered towards the box, discarded in a corner.

 

_"You feel regret,"_ his mother’s voice echoed around his mind _. "And maybe you do need closure."_

 

Well, then.

 

He could do closure.

 

Roger got up, and walked towards the box.

 

.

 

"Oh, it’s gorgeous," Brian gushed, lifting up the coat, which had been delivered to their cottage barely three days later. John grinned, but couldn’t help but agree. The cut was absolutely gorgeous, sleek, yet practical for winter, lined with soft wool on the inside.

 

Roger was going to look stunning in this, John thought, heart beating slightly faster.

 

"You know," Brian said, putting down the coat into box again. "I’ve been thinking, and maybe I should get Rog a gift as well."

 

"You know you don’t have to just because _I_ am getting him something," John replied.

 

Brian shook his head. "I do know. No, it’s –" Brian trailed off. "I’ve felt bad about how we left off, and how he was nowhere to be found, and maybe he was still angry with us, ovr the whole – jealousy thing." He sighed. "But maybe it’ll come off as trying to buy his forgiveness?"

 

John had been thinking about that too. "I think we should," he countered, playing with one of the brass buttons. "And when we’re back, we can talk to him, figure out where we stand."

 

"Where do we stand?" Brian asked, cocking his head. "Because I’ve been trying not to think about it too much, and you’ve been fantastic at fucking every coherent thought out of me –" John smirked. "But I have, and I’m still not sure what to make of it all."

 

"I don’t think we will until we see him," John shrugged. "But I think we should keep doing–" he trailed a hand down Brian’s spine, agonizingly slow. Brian shuddered. "–what we’re doing, and focus on – _other things_ –" Brian moaned weakly at the feel of John’s fingers disappearing under the waistband of his pants, skirting dangerously close to his hole. "And when we’re back home, we can figure out this thing out together, with Roger, hm?"

 

It took Brian multiple tries before he got his voice working again. "Yeah, sounds – _fuck_ – sounds real good, John, can you _please_ –"

 

"Anything you want, love," John purred.

 

"Oh, _fuck you_ ," Brian grunted, knees trembling.

 

"As you wish."

 

.

 

Roger was several gulps of vodka in, surrounded by the contents of the box. Their box. Roger sniffled, and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold weather.

 

"It’s only regret," Roger mumbled to himself, tracing his and Dom’s smiling faces on a picture. The thing was, he had been sure he’d still harbor feelings for Dom, as she had been such an integral part of Roger’s life, in such an all-consuming intimate way. And, he thought with a heavy heart, she would’ve been an integral part of his future, too.

 

If he hadn’t fucked it up.

 

But now, looking at Dom, beautiful, funny, _strong_ Dominique, Roger didn’t feel that falling swoop anymore.

 

He just felt sad. His hands closed around the small glass jar, full of little scraps of papers.

 

"Come on, my chér, it’s not silly," Dominique tutted, as Roger continued to snicker. "It’s a wonderful way to put out your wishes out for the universe to hear."

 

_"The universe, Dom,_ really _?" Roger grinned. She huffed, swatting at his head._

 

"Can’t hurt to try, no?"

 

"Guess not," Roger shrugged, still smiling. Dom held out a small piece of paper.

 

"Well, go on," she waved her hand impatiently. "What do you wish for?"

 

What did he wish for, indeed, Roger thought bitterly. Over the years, they’d written down every little wish and hope and put it in this jar, until it was so full it was close to burst, now.

 

All those thoughts, moments of happiness, dreams, over because –

 

"No one we both know, no one twice, and we have to tell each other about it each time," Dom made him promise. Roger nodded, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. Sounded easy enough, and equally fair to both – Dom not liking the idea of being alone and abstinent for months even less than he did. It was just sex. Just business.

 

Famous last words, Roger knew.

 

"I’m so sorry," Dom sobbed. "I just went to the doctors last weeks, just got barely used to the idea, I wanted to tell you, but –" another sob shook her, and Roger reached out, taking her in his arms, feeling numb.

 

"I’m sorry," she sniffled again, red face, blotched by tears pressed into his neck. "I’m so sorry I lost –"

 

"Not your fault," Roger said quietly. "These things happen." The words seemed to comfort her, but to Roger, they sounded empty, like a puppet repeating what it was told it should say.

 

He felt disconnected.

 

Roger traced his thumb over one of the notes, crumpled up and smoothed out multiple times, containing only a name. Dom had never known he’d put it in the jar.

 

.

 

Sex with Crystal was surprisingly easy, Crystal being honed on Roger’s needs thanks to his job, and Roger feeling more lonely, more left behind, than usual, desperate for a connection, no strings attached. And Roger loved the casualness of it, the way Crystal could fuck him like a rabid animal, and still take care of him, and it never got weird, never became more. And when Roger realized he’d already broken one of Dom’s rules, in his loneliness and frankly, his lust, he’d simply fallen back again in bed again with him. And again.

 

And eventually, the emptiness had faded away.

 

_And then it had become a thing, and before he knew it, they fucked almost every night, and it was so_ easy _, not even having to look for a willing bedpartner anymore, when Crystal was right there, and more than eager to fuck him, to get fucked by Roger, and Roger had felt less lonely for these few hours, almost every night after a show._

 

But then reality called.

 

_Dom had come for a surprise visit. And she didn’t catch him in bed, but she might as well have, when he was confronted with what he’d_ done _._

 

And Roger was many things, but he didn’t want to be a coward.

 

So he’d told her.

 

Dom had sat frozen long after he’d told her, looking out of the window. Then, she’d gotten up, and walked out without another word to him.

 

When he’d gotten home after the tour, her things had just been _gone_ , the spaces that were hers stripped bare, the ugliness of what had happened, what Roger had done, just the more pronounced.

 

Roger deserved everything he had been feeling, and more. Dom had been hurting as much as he had, if not more, and he had nothing better to do than break her trust.

 

And he couldn’t even justify it with having caught feelings for Crystal, because that would have been – not _better_ , but it might’ve softened the blow somewhat, to his own guilt. The only thing that had temporarily changed was that he’d put distance between him and Crystal too, because Crystal had rightfully demanded what the fuck was going on, and had been close to punching him in the face, Roger could tell.

 

Nevertheless, Crystal had still tried to be there for Roger, persistent, even after Roger had put real effort into pushing him away.

 

And then, as if everything hadn’t been complicated enough already, Roger had fallen into bed with Brian and John. Granted, it hadn’t been his idea, and in his opinion, he’d put up a valiant effort to keep his distance, but in the end, things had gotten muddled, and now Roger was well on his way to fuck up every relationship in his life.

 

He put everything back into the box neatly, pretending his hands weren’t shaking the entire time. _Closure_ , he reminded himself. Roger dragged the box over to the fireplace, making quick work of starting a fire. He looked into the dancing flames for a long while, before he took all the contents out again, every photograph, every trinket, every piece of jewelry he’d gifted Dom, and tossed it into the fire, one by one, watching the items curl and melt and turn to ash, as if they’d never existed in the first place.

 

Eventually, only the jar was left. He picked out every note, read every one, committing them to memory one last time, before tossing them into the fire as well. Eventually, he found the one with the name on it, the one he’d almost never written down.

 

Something that hadn’t come to pass, something that now would never get the chance to come to pass.

 

And by that point Roger didn’t even pretend anymore that he was alright, and a sob broke out unbidden, but he forced the next one down, lodged in his throat, choking him.

 

He stared at the name for a long time. His hand had been hovering, halfway stretched out to the fire, scrap of paper in hand.

 

He put the note back into the jar, and the jar back into the box, closing it.

 

Whatever he had left on energy left him with the next breath, and he barely managed to crawl over to the couch, succumbing to his grief, his exhaustion, his regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY HE'S NOT DONE SUFFERING YET
> 
> leave me a comment, yeah? ;)


	18. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie wants just some peace and quiet, instead, he's left with cleaning up his friends' mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is slightly shorter than the others, but it's a much needed one.
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay ♥
> 
> ALSO Oh my God, so many kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and COMMENTS. WE HAVE NOW REACHED OVER 400 I AM SO HAPPY YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
> 
> .
> 
> @tikini, how do I even begin to say thanks? You edited this chapter fantastically, and I'm so glad for your input and especially time you put into this, love ♥ You're a beautiful human being, and deserve the best. AND SHE'S NOW MY BETA FOR THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH, I LOVE YOU. Everyone, pls go read her fics, she's awesome ♥ 
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for getting this baby started in the first place.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for being a fucking amazing bro, reading this when you're not even in the fandom ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

Jim’s family was nothing short of wonderful. They’d all welcomed Freddie with open arms, as if they’d known him for years, and by the end of tea time that first day, Jim’s mum had all but adopted him.

 

Freddie felt dizzy from all the positive attention, no one judging either him or Jim; it was so touching that he’d gotten just the tiniest bit misty-eyed.

 

In short, Freddie was having a more amazing, loving and relaxing Christmas here in Ireland than he ever remembered having in London. He felt a bit guilty, because when they’d all been broke, barely able to afford the nicer soup cans for Christmas back in the day, him and the other three had done their damned best to make their tiny shared flat as homey and Christmassy as humanly possible.

 

Then, he remembered he didn’t need to feel guilty at all, because John and Brian, the fuckers, had left without a word to Bali, probably having the time of their lives, shagging on the beach and hand-feeding each other grapes or some other hedonistic bullshit. Freddie did, however, feel slightly worried about Roger, despite him being in the most capable hands possible; his mother’s. Roger had sounded strange on the phone, voice heavy with _something_ , and he’d also seemed exhausted, acting unusually short towards him.

 

"Freddie," Jim mumbled into his shoulder from where they were spooning. "Go to sleep, we leave quite early tomorrow."

 

Freddie sighed. "I know, I’m just," he trailed off. "Do you mind if we pop by Roger’s the day after tomorrow? I just want to make sure he’s alright." He felt a smile pressed into his bare shoulder, and no, he did _not_ melt at the tender gesture.

 

Maybe just a bit.

 

"Of course, love," Jim mumbled. "He’s coming over anyway for New Years’, isn’t he? We’ll just pick him up a bit sooner, then."

 

"You’re an angel," Freddie said, lifting their linked hands to his mouth, pressing a brief kiss to Jim’s knuckles.

 

"Takes one to know one," Jim told him softly.

 

Freddie was too tired to deal with his lovely husband.

 

"I’m going to sleep, now," Freddie informed him pompously.

 

A whispered laugh tickling his neck was his only response.

 

Freddie was so in love.

 

.

 

Freddie had loved his time in Ireland, with Jim’s lovely family, but he was glad to be back home, in his own bed, surrounded by all of his darlings. Flying was so tedious, somehow the roughly one-hour flight feeling more of a chore than their usual flights over half the world.

 

He was getting old, he thought wistfully to himself. But he would never exchange what he had right now for his wilder days, not in a thousand years. Sometimes, he felt he didn’t deserve what he’d achieved in life; not the fame or music, that was his own brilliance combined with the other three, brilliant bandmates of his. No, what he meant was this, right here; a feeling of deep contentment, lounging around in his living room, his husband in all but name right by his side, their life settled and carved out for them, the future looking bright, and most importantly, _theirs_.

 

Now, if only the rest of his family, his brothers in all but blood, wouldn’t act like hens running around with their head chopped off, he thought to himself exasperatedly, idly sipping his tea and watching Jim with Tiffany and Romeo in his laps, both cats competing for Jim’s attention. He sighed internally. It was likely that one or all of them needed a good kick in the rear, and Freddie didn’t _want_ to get involved – but if he didn’t want it all to end up in tears and Queen in tatters, he might have to.

 

Really, but they were all so stubborn – there were two possible outcomes which would work for everyone involved.

 

Lucky for Brian and John, they were far away, out of Freddie’s reach; Roger had just volunteered himself for questioning.

 

.

 

Roger hadn’t picked up the phone, but he wasn’t particularly a morning person, so Freddie wasn’t surprised, per se. Nevertheless, the next day, close to noon, Freddie found himself marching up the stairs to Roger’s front door, Jim a few steps behind him. "You better be home, Blondie," Freddie muttered under his breath as he fished out the spare key.

 

"Shouldn’t you ring the doorbell first, maybe?" Jim asked him.

 

Freddie shook his head. "If he didn’t pick up his phone, I doubt he’ll answer the door," he shrugged. "Besides, I do love to surprise people," he added with a grin.

 

"You mean you love being a mean little arsehole to your friends, hm?" Jim corrected as Freddie unlocked the door, following him inside.

 

"You know me so well," Freddie simpered, batting his eyelashes at him. Jim gave a good-natured eye-roll. "Roger," Freddie shouted into the house. "Your day has just gotten ten times better, come greet your guests!" Jim snickered next to him, but the house remained silent. "Where is he?" Freddie frowned to himself.

 

"Let’s take a look upstairs," Jim suggested. "Maybe he really is asleep." Freddie was just about to follow him upstairs, when something caught his eye. He turned, looking intently at the box he saw lying on the floor next to the couch, and although the house was chilly, Freddie could still smell the scent of lingering smoke. He took a few, tentative steps into the living room, when he spied a tuft of blond hair peeking out from the mountain of blankets.

 

"Rog?" He called out softly. Nothing moved, and Freddie moved around the couch, stepping closer to what was likely Roger under all those blankets. He put a hand on where he thought his shoulder was, shaking slightly. "C’mon, lovie, wake up," he called softly. Roger did stir, but Freddie could only make out something slurred, and he frowned again. Looking around, he found only a bottle of vodka, discarded near the cold fireplace – nothing that hinted that Roger had gone and gotten himself so shitfaced that he wouldn’t wake up. Jim had followed him into the living room, keeping a bit of a distance, but watching Roger carefully. "Alright, enough is enough," Freddie decided, tugging at the blankets, hard.

 

The blankets fell away without resistance, and Freddie waited for a moan of protest that didn’t come, before he took a closer look at his friends and let out a startled gasp.

 

Roger looked fucking _horrible_.

 

He was pale, almost washed out, but his cheeks were bright with an unnatural flush. His hair was flat, lifelessly sticking to his forehead, and he was shivering almost violentl.

 

"Fuck," Freddie muttered, touching Roger’s forehead carefully, flinching back a moment later. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed again, looking up at Jim. "He’s definitely running a fever."

 

Jim reacted instantly. "I’ll get a thermometer and a towel," he said, immediately turning in the direction of the bathroom. Freddie shot a smile after him, before turning to Roger. "Roger, sweetheart, I need you to wake up," he said firmly, cradling his overheated cheeks between his hands, making the paleness of his skin even more prominent.

 

Finally, Roger’s eyelashes fluttered, one eye squinting open. Roger blinked up at him, looking confused. "Fred?" he mumbled, his voice sounding awful, cracking mid-speak. "Wh’ – wha’ are you doin’ ‘ere?" He managed eventually, closing his eyes again, frowning as if in deep thought.

 

"Checking up on you, you stupid fuck," Freddie muttered. "And with good reason too – how long have you been sick?"

 

"’m not sick," Roger shook his head, but then immediately winced, the motion clearly causing him pain.

 

"Of course," Freddie said in his best sarcastic voice. "And I’m Santa Clause, didn’t you know? Ho ho ho, who’s been a naughty little cunt?"

 

Freddie thought Roger might be trying to laugh, but the sound his throat produced just made his ears bleed instead. In that moment, Jim returned, looking relieved that Roger seemed at least partially awake.

 

"Here," he said, handing over a wet towel and a thermometer. Freddie squinted at it – he was pretty sure it was the one they’d given Roger when they’d moved out, all those years ago, a cheap, plastic thing, but as long as it still worked, Freddie wouldn’t say anything.

 

He crammed the thing into Roger’s mouth, who was protesting weakly, but put up about as much of a fight as a newborn kitten. He gave up him. Jim, thoughtful as ever, had gone to fetch a glass of water.

 

"Roger, why didn’t you fucking call?" Freddie hissed, dabbing at his forehead. "You’re looking like death warmed over."

 

"Came suddenly," Roger slurred around the thermometer still in his mouth, and Freddie fished it out of his mouth, deciding enough time had passed. "Felt shitty for a few days," Roger croaked. "But thought it was because –"he started to cough suddenly, an ugly, hacking sound, making Freddie and Jim wince. Jim took the thermometer from Freddie, frowning.

 

"It’s high, but I don’t think we have to haul him to a hospital," he told Freddie, while handing Roger the glass of water, who took it eagerly, drinking eagerly in large gulps.

 

"Well, we can’t leave him here, alone, either," Freddie muttered. "Look at him!"

 

"’m fine," Roger protested. "’s just a cold."

 

"Do shut up, the adults are talking," Freddie said, not even looking at him. "Would you mind terribly if we drag him home with us a few days early?" He asked Jim, biting his lip.

 

"You know I don’t," Jim replied, smiling at him, and Freddie must’ve made a face, because Roger made fake-gagging sounds next to him.

 

"I changed my mind, let’s leave him here to die in his own filth," Freddie said, sniffing disdainfully, but at the same time, he started to haul Roger upright. "I’m going to pack a few things, would you mind sitting with him for a moment, make sure he doesn’t die of sheer stupidity?"

 

Roger made an indignant sound, but Jim patted his hand consolingly.

 

Freddie made quick work of Roger’s bedroom, picking up a few clean clothes, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he was greeted by Ziggy, who meowed up at him, tail swishing.

 

"Hello, lovely," he cooed at her, but knew better than to try and pet her – how something as foul-tempered as Ziggy had given birth to his darling Tiffany, he’d never understand. "I’m going to steal your favorite human for a few days, if that’s alright?" He refilled the automatic food-dispenser to the brim, so she wouldn’t go hungry. Ziggy just meowed at him again, but her tail had stopped twitching nervously. With the demon-cat satisfied, he began to rummage around the cabinets, searching for something he could feed Roger before they left.

 

Unfortunately, apart from microwaveable pop-corn, some pickles and a few tomatoes that had developed their own culture by now, however, he didn’t find anything. He did see an empty package, and from the looks of it, it was a care-package from Roger’s mum. At least, that one was empty. Frowning, he returned to the living room. Jim had managed to get Roger upright, but he was leaning heavily on him in support.

 

"Roger, why isn’t there any food in your kitchen?" He asked sharply. Jim looked up at his sharp tone, but Roger just shrugged.

 

"Take-out," he replied.

 

"Take–" Freddie started. "You can’t just live off take-out all the time, you know," he sighed, deciding this wasn’t the time for a lecture. "Alright, let’s get you on the way."

 

.

 

Back home, they shuffled Roger towards one of their bathrooms, Jim disappearing for a moment to get Roger’s stuff settled and to put a kettle of tea. Roger mostly let himself be manhandled without protest, which really told Freddie how shitty he must’ve been feeling. "I’m tossing you into the shower," he told Roger, wrestling off his socks. "The hot water might reanimate your cold corpse parading as my drummer," he continued, before taking a delicate sniff. "Also, frankly, you _smell_."

 

"Jesus, buy me dinner first," Roger joked, but his voice was weak, croaky, and Freddie took pity on him, helping him out of his trousers, then his shirt, before he froze.

 

Roger’s chest, neck, back and hips, as well as his thighs, were littered with hickeys, bite-marks and finger-shaped bruises. Now, Freddie was no stranger to a bit of rough-handling in the bedroom, enjoying the occasional bite-mark and a bit of bruising, even liked the reminder, but this? This was definitely excessive.

 

"Rog?" He asked carefully. "Where are all these from?" Roger blinked, looking down on himself, before he shrugged, seemingly uncaring.

 

Freddie wasn’t an idiot, nor blind, and he saw the minute flinch, almost as if he’d forgotten the fading bruises and marks were still there.

 

"These look a bit – much," he added. Roger sighed.

 

"No, it’s fine," Roger said, much more firmly than he should be able to, as he was still swaying. "It was a –" he chuckled to himself, but Freddie thought it wasn’t a very nice sound. "It was a _real_ good time. C’mon, you know how it is, sometimes it gets a bit enthusiastic."

 

Freddie did know, but –

 

Roger stumbled, almost braining himself on a cabinet in the process, and Freddie decided he could get to the bottom of this later, when Roger wasn’t almost cooking his brain from the fever.

 

The niggling feeling didn’t leave him, though.

 

.

 

A few hours later, Roger was firmly tucked into one of their guest beds, and yes, Freddie did feel like a glorified nurse maid. Once Roger felt better, he’d never let him live this down. However, Roger was clearly sick, apparently this close to something more serious than just a cold, and now that Freddie thought about it, Roger had been awfully sniffly for the better part of the week before Ratty’s birthday party, likely too stubborn to take precautions.

 

"You’re a very good friend," Jim told him, startling Freddie out of his musings.

 

"Well," he said. "I couldn’t leave him there, could I?" Jim just nodded, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly. "It’s just – you saw the bruises too, didn’t you?"

 

Jim hummed. "Yes, I did," he replied neutrally.

 

Freddie rubbed over his face. "It’s just – I don’t like the look of some of those, you know?"

 

"Well, maybe he – he was into it?" Jim suggested, still careful. "Some blokes –"

 

"I know," Freddie sighed. "He even implied so, but." He mulled over his thoughts for a moment. "His – his _lovers_ ," he grimaced at the word, because they weren’t, not really. "Should be more careful."

 

"I’ve never got the impression that Roger has trouble telling people to fuck off," Jim said mildly.

 

"No," Freddie snorted humorlessly. "But then, he’s always been a bit indulgent with Deaky and Bri."

 

Jim choked on his tea, hacking away. Freddie patted his back in sympathy.

 

"I – uh," Jim said when he managed to get some air. "They’ve been sleeping together? The three of them?"

 

"Unfortunately," Freddie muttered. "I walked in on them in the studio a few weeks ago," he shuddered, and Jim coughed, it sounding suspiciously like a badly disguised laugh. "Now, it’s not really my business what they get up to in their free time, but I don’t think it’s a good idea."

 

"Why not?" Jim asked curiously. Freddie stirred his tea, deep in thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t see the genuine affection between them, but he’d always put it down as them being friends; after all, they all acted the same towards each other.

 

Then again, so had Brian and John, and then they were suddenly shagging between shows.

 

To be fair, though, those two had always had underlying tension, sometimes even too much. Freddie had always wondered how their personalities didn’t clash horribly in a romantic aspect. Turned out, it apparently had, and they’d roped Roger into it.

 

Well, Roger could’ve said no, he supposed, before shaking his head. Roger’d always had trouble denying Brian and John when it came to things that really mattered. Oh, he could stand up for himself more than well enough when their music and touring was involved, and he didn’t shy away from throwing a fit. But, when it came to personal matters, matters of the heart, he just – Roger just became incredibly soft. Freddie didn’t think Roger realized it, or if he did, he just never fought against it.

 

Sometimes, it scared Freddie, the lengths that Roger would go for all of them.

 

Especially considering he was still nursing his own tattered heart. Freddie fiddled with the jar he’d picked out of the discarded box in Roger’s home. He didn’t recognize the name on the scrap of paper, but, as it was sitting in all its lonesome in a huge glass jar, Freddie figured it was important – something in him pulled at the foreign name, and he felt strangely melancholic, seeing it.

 

.

 

It took over a day of forcing down meds and food and fluids down Roger’s throat, but by the end of the second day, he looked a bit more like he wouldn’t immediately fall on his arse, and Freddie allowed him to join them for a movie marathon downstairs.

 

"How magnanimous of you," Roger said tartly, dragging one of the fluffy blankets downstairs with him, almost trampling over Delilah.

 

"I could also leave you tied to the bed," Freddie pointed out. "Darling, you really need to get better at taking care of yourself, you’re past thirty. Even I know to take some disgusting medicine when I have the flu."

 

"Look," Roger sighed, voice still throaty, but much better than his attempt at an old mountain witch from a day ago. "I thought I was just feeling off because of the after-effects of the party, and I didn’t realize until too late."

 

"Hm," Freddie said tonelessly, and Jim scooped up Goliath and left the room when he took one look at Freddie’s face. Roger looked after him, mouthing "traitor" at his back. "After-effects, you say," Freddie probed.

 

"Yup," Roger said with a straight face. "You know, the coke, the alcohol –"

 

"–Getting fucked by your two best friends," Freddie nodded. Roger chocked on air.

 

"Wait –"

 

"Really, Roger? You’re telling me you’re fine with them going to Bali?"

 

"Well, no –"

 

"And that you’re not thinking about them at all?"

 

"That’s not –"

 

"And you’re telling me you’re not at least a little hung up on them?"

 

"Fred –"

 

"Because you look a little heartbroken to me–"

 

 _"I’M FINE!"_ Roger roared.

 

Freddie remained quiet for a moment. "No," he said into the ringing silence. "You’re really not." He procured Roger’s glass jar from under the coffee table, setting it down in front of him.

 

Roger went white.

 

"Why do you have that?" he asked, voice so quiet Freddie just barely managed to hear him.

 

"I find you passed out in your home with only this lying about? Of course I’m gonna take a look," he replied with false bravado, because Roger looked ready to erupt.

 

"You had no right," Roger seethed.

 

"No, probably not," Freddie said. "But you’ve been – not okay, for a long while. There was a time I knew every sordid thing about your life, but now –" Roger opened his mouth. "And I know you’ve got your own life, and you don’t _have_ to tell me shit, but – I don’t think you’ve really been _living_ , these past few months, have you?" Freddie spoke with the softest voice he could manage, but still, Roger looked like he was about to cry.

 

Freddie opened his arms wordlessly.

 

Roger flew into his arms, dry sobs shaking him.

 

Freddie held him for a long time.

 

.

 

"Fuck," Roger muttered, wiping his face free from the remaining tear tracks. "Sorry about bawling into your shirt, Freddie."

 

Freddie handed him a tissue wordlessly. "I think this was a long time coming, wasn’t it?" He asked, looking at Roger’s blotched face. "Feel better?"

 

"Yeah," Roger grunted, looking mildly embarrassed.

 

"Oh, none of that," Freddie shook his head at him. "I’ve seen you starkers with two girls in bed, lathered in chocolate sauce and with a hairbrush up your arse. There is nothing that can top _that_ embarrassment."

 

"Thanks," Roger winced at the memory.

 

"Alright," Freddie said after Roger was done blowing his nose. "What do you want to talk about first? The name or our _darling_ bandmates?"

 

"Can’t we just –" Roger trailed off at the stony look. "Oh, alright," he sighed in defeat.

 

Freddie held up the jar. "Who’s Felix Luthor Taylor?"

 

"You don’t pull your punches at all, do you?" Roger asked, sounding more tired than Freddie had ever seen him. "He doesn’t exist," he added after a long moment.

 

"Then, who –"

 

"He didn’t," Roger interrupted him, staring out of the window. "But he could have."

 

"Oh. Oh!" Freddie exclaimed, dread filling him. "Dom was –"

 

"Mhm," Roger said. "But she lost it, early."

 

"I – I’m so sorry, I didn’t know – why didn’t you tell us?"

 

"I – I don’t really know," Roger said. "Mostly, I was trying to forget about it, after all, I only learned about it when it already had happened."

 

"Fuck, Rog," Freddie said, reaching out. Roger let him take his hand, but still didn’t look at him.

 

"And then I blew it, and went to fuck Crystal," he added, contempt clear in his voice.

 

"You were hurting," Freddie said gently. "We all make mistakes when we hurt."

 

"So was she," Roger replied. "And I went and lost my chance for – for _him_ , forever," he said, nodding at the jar, barely managing to press out the words.

 

"I –" Well, fuck, what did one _say_ to that? Freddie was still trying to wrap his head around it.

 

"I know, don’t bother," Roger said. "I barely knew what to say, either."

 

"So," Freddie cleared his throat. "Not to be a total prick by asking, but you’re not really, err, hung up on _Dom_ , but on the could-have-beens."

 

"I guess," Roger said. "My mum said I felt regret. I think she’s right."

 

"Okay," Freddie nodded. "See, already one topic over with," he encouraged. He didn’t voice the thoughts of how Roger likely was behaving like he had been these past few months because the guilt made him feel he had to atone for something, and possibly was the reason he agreed to whatever this Roger-Brian-John thing was.

 

"Just like that?" Roger asked.

 

"Oh, I’m not done, yet," Freddie said. "Why do you look like you were mauled by a pack of starving raccoons?"

 

"Well, if two, or in this case, three adults decide to have some fun –"

 

"Oh, _stop_ that," Freddie snapped, and the lewd smile thankfully disappeared immediately. "You didn’t take it well at all when I told you those two fucks disappeared to Bali," he added. "I didn’t see you at the party at all, and while a bit of – _enthusiasm_ might explain some of those bruises, the whole picture is actually quite worrying."

 

"Look –" Roger began, but Freddie interrupted him.

 

"What the fuck happened?"

 

Roger shut his mouth so fast there was an audible clack of teeth.

 

"Roger –"

 

"I’m not – entirely sure," he admitted. "They were acting like – like utter pricks the entire week, but especially when Dom came over–"

 

"Dom came over?" Freddie interrupted, eyes wide. "Darling, you better start at the beginning."

 

Roger looked positively mulish for a few moments, but then his shoulders sagged, and then he told Freddie everything.

 

By the end of it, Freddie was gripping the side of the couch so tightly it might have ripped. He was fucking _furious_.

 

Some part of him was amused by Roger’s sheer obliviousness to the other two’s jealousy, because it was damn obvious to a dying blind man, but the rage overtook most of it.

 

"So, they just _left_ you there?" Freddie asked, voice shaking. Roger glanced at him.

 

"We were all shit-faced. They could barely _stand_ ," he explained, looking oddly uncaring.

 

"And what, that gives them the right?" Freddie stood up, unable to contain himself any longer.

 

"No, it was pretty shitty," Roger said easily. "If I were their lover."

 

Freddie slowly turned to him. "’If’? Dear, the amount of time you three have spent shagging does make you lovers, even if it you were a stranger – which, you’re not. They’re your _friends_."

 

"I know," Roger said, and it still was in that infuriating easy tone, which meant Roger was retreating into himself again. "But this between us isn’t out of love," Roger snorted. "They needed help, I helped them, and they got lost in it a bit, so what?" Freddie was trying to get a grasp on what he was hearing. "And now, I’ve been reminded of where I stand, in this, this _thing_ ," Roger added, and there it was, the soft vulnerability, if only for a moment, before Roger visibly shook it off.

 

"Let me get this straight," Freddie said, and, yes, there was a joke in that statement, if only he hadn’t been so dead serious. "First, they ask you to do something like this in the first place, to ‘help them out’," he counted off on his fingers. "Then, even though you try to keep your distance, they sweet-talk you into giving more."

 

"No, wait, they were being nice –" Roger began, but Freddie steamrolled over him.

 

"And then, when all of you feel like everything is just dandy, they turn around, use you like a whore on the street, _don’t even bother with some fucking lube_ , leave you looking like you were in a car-accident, don’t give you any after-care, and then _just fuck off to Bali_?!" He shouted the last part, having worked himself into a right fit. Roger flinched minutely. "Did I get that all right?"

 

"Well, yes, but –"

 

"I thought so," Freddie nodded, sitting down again on the couch.

 

"It’s not really their fault," Roger said softly, and Freddie turned to look at him incredulously.

 

" _How_ is it not their fault?"

 

"Fred, you know how inexperienced they are, how much they’ve been struggling," he began, and Freddie wanted to shake him, ask ‘ _And how is that your responsibility?_ ’, but Roger was still talking. "If anything, it was because of _me_ , me giving them more control over this entire thing, that they got confused over it. Maybe their holiday will do them good."

 

"I’ll ask again, does that give them the right?" Freddie asked him, and Roger just – deflated.

 

"I’m not saying they weren’t being pricks," he grinned weakly. "I’m just saying, I get it."

 

"If you weren’t sick, I’d smack you over the head for saying something so incredibly stupid," Freddie informed him. "And then what, you walked home in the freezing night without a proper coat because ‘it’s not really yours’," he quoted back at Roger, and on top of that whole rigmarole, you got sicker, but because you thought you were moping you didn’t do anything about it."

 

"You make me sound like a dunce," Roger complained.

 

"That’s because you _are_ ," Freddie said darkly. "But not for the reasons you think." Indeed. If anything, Roger was far too lenient with those two. If it had been Freddie they’d asked – not that he would have gotten involved in that way, even if he’d been single – and they’d treated him like that, they’d definitely find parts of them missing, parts any bloke was very fond of.

 

"You’re staying here until you’re better, and then we’re getting absolutely trashed for New Years, without it ending in someone’s bed in _that_ way, and we’re going to forget about those two cunts for the time being," he said, cracking his knuckles.

 

"Fred, c’mon," Roger said, trying to soothe him.

 

"Aside from everything else, they did leave for three weeks, without telling either you or me," Freddie reminded him, and finally, Roger’s face darkened a bit with annoyance.

 

"Yeah alright," he nodded.

 

"Fantastic. Now go to bed," Freddie said. "You’re still sick."

 

"Yes, mum," Roger muttered, but grabbed his mountain of blankets and made his way upstairs. No sooner had he left around the corner that Jim peeked inside.

 

"Is everything okay?" He asked softly.

 

"Not yet," Freddie said darkly. "I have a phone call to make. Do you think we can get Phoebe to find out our runaways’ exact location?"

 

.

 

John startled, looking up from where he’d been reading a magazine with Brian’s head pillowed on his lap.

 

Why the fuck was the phone in their rented cottage ringing? No one knew where they were, not exactly.

 

Brian stirred awake, frowning at the shrill ringing. "Who’s it?" He mumbled, pressing his face into John’s thigh.

 

"Not sure," John said slowly. "Should we –" the ringing stopped for a moment, only to start again a few seconds later. "Okay," John sighed, gently lifting Brian’s head off his lap, before marching over to the phone. He hesitated, before picking it up.

 

"Hello?" He asked cautiously, unwilling to divulge any information in case it was an over-enthusiastic fan.

 

"Ah, look who _finally_ deigned to pick up their damned phone," Freddie’s acidic voice greeted him. John raised an eyebrow at the hostile tone.

 

"Hi, Freddie," he replied slowly. From across the room, Brian rose, eyes wide. John shrugged. "How’s, uh, things?"

 

Freddie remained quiet for a long moment. "Oh, I don’t know John," he spoke eventually, deceivingly soft. John felt a shiver running down his spine. "I’m doing well enough, I suppose. Can’t say that for everyone, though."

 

"What?" John frowned, uncomprehending. Brian made his way to him, setting a hand on his shoulder, rubbing a thumb into his skin, comforting. "Fred, what do you mean?"

 

"Well," Freddie drawled, and something in the tone simultaneously made John’s skin crawl with unease, as well as his hackles rise. "If I’m fine, and you two are definitely fine, having fucked off to fucking _Bali_ –"

 

"Look, we’re _sorry_ –" John tried, but Freddie continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

 

"– then, I wonder, who _else_ I could _possibly_ mean?"

 

"Wh–" John said, but the next words got stuck at the back of his throat. " _Roger_?" He suddenly felt panic rise, choking him. Brian shuffled next to him, leaning close to be able to hear Freddie, but John didn’t notice due to the wave of dread rising in his chest, overtaking everything else. "Fuck, _fuck_ , did something happen? Fred –" he shared a look with Brian, who looked equally distressed.

 

"Something did happen, yes," and Freddie still sounded strange, falsely calm, his tone condescending, hiding anger. "Or rather, someone did." John stilled.

 

"Please," he said softly. "Tell me if something happened, happened to Roger, I need –"

 

"I don’t care right now about what you need," Freddie informed him coldly, and John reared back, almost dropping the receiver. In all their years, Freddie had never talked to him like this; in fact, he’d rarely even seen this kind of burning fury, if ever. "Is Brian listening as well?"

 

"Yeah," Brian spoke up. "Freddie, what’s going on, we need to know –"

 

"The only thing I care about, right now," Freddie spoke, his voice trembling. "Is Roger. Roger, whom I found sick as fuck in his home, because he walked home in the dead of night from your home in the biting cold, because he felt like he wasn’t wanted. Roger, who is fucking littered with bruises all over, thanks to you two. And not only –" and John waited, with bated breath, didn’t dare to breathe too loudly, tears prickling in his eyes. "Not only did you two _cunts_ leave him alone after using him like some fucking object, _without even bothering with lube_ ," and Brian flinched next to him, and John felt his head start spinning. "But then you leave the fucking country, not saying anything about it to anyone, like, like he’s fucking worthless –"

 

"No," Brian gasped. "No, we didn’t mean –"

 

"I don’t care," Freddie hissed. "I don’t give a flying fuck about what you did or didn’t mean," he informed him, and John wished Freddie would yell, because this quiet, barely contained fury scared him. "I also don’t care what this thing between the three of you is to you, to be frank. But he isn’t some whore off the street, he’s your fucking best friend!"

 

"Fuck, I know, I – we weren’t thinking –"

 

"Clearly not," Freddie snapped. "You can’t just invite friends into your bed and expect that nothing changes, John." John flinched back a second time, because – it had been his idea, and now they’d fucked up.

 

"How is he?" Brian asked softly.

 

"I don’t know if I want to tell you," Freddie answered, voice cold. "It doesn’t seem like you care, in any case."

 

"Oh, _fuck you_ ," John snapped, voice wet. "Of _course_ we do! We – we didn’t _mean_ to be awful, I didn’t realize, but we _were_ , and being high as a fucking kite isn’t an excuse, I _know_ that, but – but –" he was breathing heavily, gasping for breath, and Brian took the receiver from him, shooting him a worried look.

 

"Fred, please, just – is he doing better?" Brian asked softly. John heard Freddie sigh.

 

"He’s – doing better, but he’s – he’s not really okay, Bri," Freddie said flatly. "And the worst thing is, he doesn’t even blame you two morons."

 

"He – he doesn’t? He isn’t angry?" Brian asked, dumbfounded.

 

"Well, he isn’t happy either that you two left without a word," Freddie conceded. "But, _just_ that isn’t unforgivable, but, no. He blames himself for the rest of it."

 

" _What_?" John wheezed, still struggling with his breathing. After – John hadn’t realized how they’d treated him, hadn’t thought about it, about Roger, just thought about himself, about Brian, and – and Roger wasn’t even angry, even blaming himself.

 

"Amazing how perceptions vary, hm?" Freddie said idly. "Look, just, don’t bother him for the next weeks, I’ll make sure he doesn’t die or anything. And you two better," and here Freddie paused again, his voice taking on a dangerous note. "You two _better_ get your heads out of your arses and think about something else than just the two of you. And I better hear you grovel when you’re back, you hear? If you hurt him again like this, I’ll bring you to a hole in a forest and bury you alive, leaving you to the mercy of the worms."

 

With that, he hung up.

 

Numbly, Brian put the phone back on the receiver, before rubbing John’s shoulder, but John shook him off. He didn’t deserve comfort.

 

"Oh, John," Brian sighed, following him when John sank to the ground, crouching next to him.

 

"We – oh–" John gasped, shaking his head. His hands were trembling.

 

"We fucked up," Brian said hollowly.

 

.

 

Freddie felt marginally better after hanging up. It had taken Phoebe two days to get a phone number, and it was almost New Year’s eve. He was still shaking, both relieved and disappointed the other two hadn’t been in his physical reach, as he still wanted to fucking _shake them_.

 

It was somewhat comforting they’d reacted with such clear distress, because Freddie wouldn’t have known what to do otherwise. It didn’t excuse how they acted, but – Freddie felt there was still something salvageable in all of this.

 

If only Roger were a bit less stubborn in insisting he was fine, though. He sighed to himself, looking in the direction of Roger’s bedroom.

 

What a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, I love Freddie so so muchhhhhhh. I hope I did him justice. 
> 
> Leave me your thoughts ;)


	19. Dawning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and John return, Freddie and Roger talk, and between it all, Roger is horribly confused, mostly by himself - until he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I had notes for this chapter a whole ass year ago. FINALLY we're here. Phase three of this fic finally starting after this one!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay ♥
> 
> ALSO Oh my God, so many kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and COMMENTS. WE HAVE NOW REACHED OVER 400 I AM SO HAPPY YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
> 
> .
> 
> @tikini, my lovely beta, what would I do without you? Ahh, I feel blessed to have you, you truly magnificent being. THANKS FOR HELPING ME MAKE IT ALL MORE COHERENT. Everyone, pls go read her fics, she's awesome ♥ 
> 
> As always, many thanks to @riceinthechurch (tumblr) / Aliquis (ao3) for getting this baby started in the first place.
> 
> Thank you @Val_Creative for being a fucking amazing bro, reading this when you're not even in the fandom ♥ They have over 1K of fics! I'm sure everyone will find a fandom so PLS go read their fics!
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

 

The days spent with Freddie and Jim passed quickly. Freddie was absolutely overdoing it with the mother-henning, but Roger was grateful – even if he would never admit it to Freddie’s face, because then the rotter would likely get even _more_ overbearing.

 

They spent their days redoing Christmas their own special way, which meant getting absolutely shitfaced with cheap fried chicken from around the corner while watching reruns of Doctor Who – they both were ambivalent towards the show, but since both Brian and John went ballistic for it, and it felt a bit like spiting them, for not being there.

 

And, Roger _was_ bitter about that, though he didn’t show it; Freddie had spent two days after their talk in a strange little huff, stalking around the house and muttering to himself, all the while in trying to make Roger see things his way. Roger didn’t want to give up any ground, give Freddie even more tinder to light the next damn fire because –

 

Freddie was _wrong_.

 

Well, he was right in that Brian and John were utter pricks for leaving without a word (leaving _Roger_ lying there, tossed aside like a –). That had been shitty of them, and he’d definitely give his two cents when Freddie would undoubtedly tear them a new one the next time he saw them.

 

But, Freddie was convinced that they were the villains in this mess between the three of them, when really, it was Roger. It was _him_ who’d grown weak, who’d given in to them, when really, they’d surely offered out of a sense of duty, of wanting to be _fair_. And Roger had taken that, willingly, and taken it further than he’d needed to – after all, they’d been more than fine after a few times of Roger instructing them, all that had been missing from their relationship being communication and trying some new stuff.

 

And it almost made him cry when he thought about how they had just rolled with it, just to be kind to him, to Roger, who had obviously been too needy, obvious he needed someone, and Roger had taken, and taken, and taken, and –

 

And it had blown up _spectacularly_ in his face.

 

Understandably, they had gotten confused, their new closeness igniting some sort of anger at Roger’s push-and-pull game he had been doing. No, he hadn’t _meant_ to, had lost himself quite helplessly into their warmth, but that still didn’t excuse his behavior.

 

He should have said no; walked away. Instead, he had lied to himself that his greed for affection was simply him helping them out, out of _kindness_.

 

 _Hah_.

 

The drugs and booze had simply stripped away Brian’s and John’s indulgence and pity, and had mirrored to Roger what _he’d_ been doing to _them_.

 

Roger refused to let himself be hurt by their behavior that week, and that night. He didn’t _deserve_ to be; now, they were even. And likely, things would calm down when they returned from their sex-holiday, and they could pick up where’d they had been before this thing between the three of them had started.

 

.

 

Fuck, but Freddie really knew how to throw a New Year’s party with just three people and a dozen cats; Roger felt a swell of pity as Freddie dressed up the cats in cute little Halloween costumes, and marveled at their pliancy. Ziggy would’ve torn his face off the minute he’d ordered the things. Indeed, her own spawn, Tiffany, sat patiently in Jim’s lap as he tied a little pumpkin hat around her head, looking absolutely unbothered.

 

"Now," Freddie said, gleefully rubbing his hands together. "Your costume, darling," he nodded to Roger, who blanched.

 

"Oh, _fuck_ no," Roger said vehemently, shaking his head as he took several steps back. "Not another one of your glittery, itchy things!" Indeed, Freddie himself was wearing something resembling a white fairy costume, complete with butterfly wings.

 

There was a wicked glint in Freddie’s eyes.

 

Roger regretted all of his life choices.

 

.

 

In the end, Roger spent almost two weeks at Freddie’s; occasionally popping back to his own house, to feed Her Majesty Of The Damned, Miss Ziggy, and to grab more of his clothes. It was the most domestic he’d felt since Dom, and Roger had almost forgotten how living together with someone was; both comforting and infuriating.

 

In short, it was _great_.

 

Freddie spent much of his time pestering Roger, be it about his health, which Roger grudgingly allowed, and trying to talk more about their runaway bandmates, which Roger stubbornly refused.

 

However, Freddie was relentless, and would not be deterred, even if Roger was stalking away from him, nattering on, and, well.

 

"So, you think it’s okay to just use someone for your amusement and then toss them aside? Have you ever done that?"

 

"Fred, we’ve both had our share of fucked up relationships," Roger pointed out wearily. "And I have treated girls callously before."

 

"Well," Freddie grunted. "Sure, when you were young and stupid, and girls wouldn’t stop throwing themselves at you, yes," he conceded.

 

"Excuse you, they still do –"

 

"But would you ever just fuck someone and toss them out to the streets without so much as a thank you, _now_?"

 

"That’s _not_ what happened –" Roger began, weary of the discussion, fast.

 

" _Would_ you?" Freddie pressed.

 

Roger remained quiet. "No," he admitted. "But, as I explained like a dozen times –"

 

"We’ve discussed this exactly _once_ before you reverted to the mental state of a stubborn toddler not wanting to admit he’s tired," Freddie snorted. "And I don’t care if you think you deserve it, which you _don’t_ ," Freddie said, tone leaving no room for argument. "They were still _wrong_."

 

And.

 

Roger didn’t want to admit it but – "You’re not wrong," he finally conceded. Freddie made a triumphant face, already opening his mouth. "I just want to forg– to leave it behind us," Roger said. "They didn’t realize what they were doing, and I haven’t exactly been acting proper about the whole thing either. You yourself asked me if I knew what I was doing. And I didn’t!" He pointed out.

 

Freddie rubbed his face. "Fucking stubborn bastard," Roger heard him mutter. "We can all agree that it was stupid, and I’m not saying you’re a _total_ innocent," Freddie grunted. "I’m saying you didn’t _deserve_ that, no matter what you did or didn’t do."

 

Roger felt tears well in his eyes, and he angrily pawed at his face. Freddie’s expression softened, but he didn’t reach out to touch him; just as well, or Roger might’ve bitten his hand off.

 

"I just want everything to get back to what it was," he said, voice wet.

 

Freddie looked at him for a long while, expression almost unbearingly kind, but he didn’t give Roger any false platitudes.

 

Yeah, that’s what he thought.

 

.

 

Eventually, he did return home, but only after Freddie hadn’t heard him cough for three days in a row. He drove Roger home – or rather, Jim drove, with Roger in the backseat like he was their kid. Roger didn’t know if he should laugh or cry as they piled him food – mostly courtesy of Joe – and Roger pretended to actually listen to the list of threats Freddie piled up about what would happen if he didn’t eat it all by the time he stopped by (because apparently, Freddie would come check, the overgrown mother-hen), all while rolling his eyes at Jim whenever Freddie wasn’t looking, causing the other man to hide a fond grin.

 

"I mean it, you bitch," Freddie said, tugging at his jacket, before pulling him into a hug. "Take care of yourself – and get a fucking coat, it’s _winter_."

 

"Yes, mother," Roger snarked. "May I go now before I become one with the sidewalk?"

 

"Oh, those ungrateful brats," Freddie sniffled dramatically. "You feed them, clothe them, sacrifice your best years to them, and what’s the thanks you get?" He wailed, pretending to be some sad, weary widow from a period piece.

 

" _Bye_ , Fred," Roger said, shoving him down to sit in the passenger seat of Jim’s car. Freddie cackled as he closed the car door, and him and Jim waved as they drove off.

 

Roger snorted, but couldn’t help the fond smile blooming on his face as he made his way up the driveway. He frowned when he spotted a brown package next to his door, which must have arrived sometime during the past few days after the last time they’d went to check on Ziggy.

 

He balanced the copious amount of foot as he came closer, fishing for his key with the other hand, curiously inspecting the package closer up.

 

Then he froze.

 

The package was small, unsuspecting, perhaps a bit beat up from its long journey, but what made Roger’s heart miss the next several beats was the tiny, neat handwriting that belonged to no other than John.

 

After staring at the package for several moments, his heart now trying to make up for the missed beats with a furious pounding that left him breathless, he squared his shoulders, unlocking his door and sidestepped the package smoothly as he went inside, closing the door with a bit more force than necessary.

 

Ziggy came running from upstairs, tail bushy as she meowed at him indignantly.

 

"Yeah," he agreed, good mood flown out of the window. "Fuck this."

 

.

 

The package stayed outside for two days. Some part of Roger knew he was being unnecessarily bitter, even childish, and worst of all, it wasn’t like he could feel vindicated, as no one was there to witness his bout of strike.

 

.

 

On the third day, he caved, curiosity winning him over. He took the package inside, staring at the unassuming brown thing for a good hour, sipping his beer. Eventually, he took a knife and began to cut it open, prying it open gingerly. There was some white tissue wrapped around something soft, a note on top.

 

Hesitatntly, he took the note and unfolded it, everything in him a whirlpool of warring emotions; the one standing out clearly was dread, and Roger would’ve laughed at how much his sanity was depending on a fucking note, of all things, right now.

 

Dear Rog-

 

Roger

 

Hi Roger

 

We hope you’ve been doing okay. Since Freddie called and told us how sick you were, ~~and how much we~~ we’ve been thinking about you a lot. Sorry we didn’t call, ~~we thought it~~ the connection’s bollocks. Since we’re sure it’s still just as cold as when we left, we wanted to give you something to warm you up, ~~since you left my coat back at our place – why did you .~~ Originally, we wanted to give you the coat when we got back, ~~but we couldn’t bear the thought~~ but take it as a belated Christmas present instead of a souvenir.

 

We’ll get back around the 15th, ~~and we want to talk to you~~ and we’d like to come by sometime, if that’s alright. ~~There’s so much we need to say and we~~ Take care, please.

 

We miss you

 

We’re so sorry

 

Love,

 

See you soon!

 

Bri and Deaky

 

　

Most of the letter was in John’s handwriting, but he could practically hear the additions in Brian’s soft, soothing murmur. A lot was crossed out to the point of being completely unreadable, which was unusual, as especially John was far from insecure, but Roger could make out a certain wobble in the handwriting. Roger wondered what else they had wanted to say, as the letter itself was stilted, almost artificially cheerful.

 

What the fuck had Freddie said to them?

 

He exhaled through his nose, setting the note aside. Carefully, he pushed the white wrapping aside, before he gasped.

 

Inside was the most beautiful coat that Roger had ever seen.

 

It was a dark, rich red, almost black in colour, but when the light hit it, it would transform the soft fabric to something marvelous, almost iridiscent. The coat was finely made, the inside a soft, warm wool, and Roger could already tell it’d feel like a soft cloud wearing it. Upon closer inspection, he saw some stitching around the button holes, as well as the inside of the collar; two small, crossed drumsticks.

 

Delighted, he picked it up, pressing his face to it. Yup, definitely felt like an angel’s naked arse.

 

He was about to take it out, to try the wonderfully thoughtful gift on, when he froze mid-air, realization dawning, dousing him in the cold water of reality.

 

They’d gifted him the thing out of _guilt_.

 

As if burned, he let the coat fall back into the box, horrified.

 

They _never_ gave each other presents for Christmas; Roger couldn’t imagine that he’d crossed their minds for more than a few seconds while they were likely busy fucking each other’s brains out on a beach in fucking _Bali_. So, the only reason they’d gotten him anything like this, was out of guilt because of whatever bullshit Freddie had spewed.

 

.

 

"You fucking called them!" Roger snapped, not even letting Freddie finish saying hello.

 

"Of course I did," Freddie said, completely unpertubed. "Darling, they left you behind looking like roadkill."

 

"Who asked you to get involved?" Roger snarled, ignoring the shake in his hands. It was from anger, he told himself.

 

"What’s brought this on?" Freddie asked in lieu of replying. "Did they call you? Fuck, they didn’t accuse you –"

 

"No, they didn’t call," Roger grunted. "They sent me a fucking pity gift."

 

A perplexed silence followed. "They sent you a gift?" Freddie asked, voice neutral.

 

"Yes, out of fucking pity because you likely told them they were fucking – demons or something –"

 

"What was the gift?" Freddie interrupted.

 

Roger glared at the wall. "A coat," he growled.

 

"Oh, didn’t you like it? Was it one of those cheap knock-offs from over there? It’s like they’re not even _trying_ –"

 

" _No_ , it’s fucking beautiful, bloody handmade, prettiest piece of clothing I’ve ever seen, but that’s not the point –"

 

"So, it’s a _thoughtful_ gift," Freddie hummed. "And you’re angry because?"

 

"Weren’t you fucking _listening_?" Roger snapped. "They only did that because you went and made a right mess –"

 

"I don’t think so," Freddie said lightly, sounding faintly amused. "I think it’s a good start. Now, I have to go dear, Jim is calling for me. Call me when you have an actual problem. Ta!"

 

Roger slammed the receiver back so hard a vase fell off the tiny table and shattered.

 

" _Fuck_!" Roger roared.

 

.

 

Out of spite, he got a coat from the nearest shop he could find, a cheap, dull thing, black and ill-fitting. The coarse material was horribly scratchy.

 

Roger staunchly ignored the package with the gleaming fabric in the corner of his room, taunting him.

 

Who needed a gorgeous pity gift anyway? He was just fine with his own coat.

 

.

 

"You’re gonna want this," Freddie told him instead of a greeting, having shown unannounced on his doorstep. He pressed a sixpack of cheap beer into Roger’s arms, pushing past him.

 

"Oh, what _now_?" Roger grunted, closing the door and following him into his living room. Freddie suddenly came to a halt, cocking his head to look at the coat that Roger had bought.

 

"Is that the coat? The ‘prettiest piece of clothing you’ve ever laid eyes upon’?" Freddie asked, a look of disdain at the offending piece of clothing.

 

"No," Roger mumbled. "Got myself one." Astonished, Freddie turned to look at him.

 

"You got – oh, for fuck’s sake, this fucking family, I swear," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

 

"’s not forbidden, is it?" Roger said tartly, shifting from one foot to the other. Freddie just sighed. "Now, what’s happened that got you in such a tizzy?"

 

"Sit down," Freddie said, doing so himself, grabbing a beer. "Paul called –"

 

"Oh, has he died? How tragic," Roger drawled.

 

" _How_ would he have been able to call about his own death, Blondie?"

 

"Well, you know, from his designated seat in hell – the throne," Roger shrugged, ducking away when Freddie tossed a pillow at him.

 

"Paul, who is _very_ much alive –" Roger muttered ‘ _pity’_ under his breath, ignoring Freddie’s glower "– has called me to inform that our _beloved_ management has called an ‘ _emergency meeting’_."

 

"That’s nice," Roger shrugged, before raising his hands in defense at Freddie’s pointed stare. "’s not like we didn’t expect that."

 

"Sure," Freddie agreed. "But the meeting is on the 19th – that date ring any bells?"

 

"What, why – oh," he blinked. "Deaky and Bri come back the night before – which means –"

 

"Which means we won’t have any time to prep with them and Miami," Freddie finished for him.

 

"Oh, fucking hell," Roger groaned, rubbing his face. "It’s us who are gonna have to sit through Miami wanking through a presentation of legal terms, isn’t it?" Freddie took a long sip of beer, looking equally mournful.

 

"These two morons owe us for the next fucking decade, my dear," he said darkly.

 

And, Roger wasn’t about to disagree. "Amen," he said, clinking their bottles together.

 

.

 

They decided that Freddie would call Brian and John, and Roger would call Miami. They had something over a week before the lovebirds returned from their sex-holiday and the meeting with their lovely management right after, which, according to Miami should give them enough time to prepare. To his credit, Miami had barely reacted, saying he’d even expected it, and he’d already put together a file.

 

"I could fucking kiss you," Roger told him on the phone, not even joking at this point.

 

"I’d rather you didn’t," Miami replied, voice drier than the Sahara.

 

"We’d be out on the streets without you," Roger said. "Honestly, I’m sure one of us would totally suck y–"

 

"See you on Wednesday, Roger," Miami said brusquely, hanging up.

 

.

 

(The less said about Freddie’s and his meeting with Miami, the better.)

 

(Roger thought Miami might’ve been about to cry.)

 

.

 

"So," Freddie said, stroking over Ziggy’s fur cautiously. "They’re coming back tomorrow."

 

Roger didn’t need to ask to know exactly who Freddie meant.

 

"Yup," he said as nonchalantly as he could, boring a hole in the TV. "Hope they still had a nice holiday despite you calling for their heads to be chopped off."

 

"Oh for – I _hope_ it was fucking ruined," Freddie snapped, the sudden volume startling Ziggy, who dug her claws into his thigh before flouncing off. ‘ _Good girl’_ , Roger though grimly at Freddie’s cursing. "They’ve been acting horribly, and I won’t apologize for telling them the damn _truth_."

 

"You could’ve waited until they were back, at the very least," Roger grunted, stuffing his mouth with some popcorn.

 

"I swear, a fucking wall is less obstinate than you," Freddie said, sounding fed up.

 

"As I said, I want things to go back to the way they were, and now they’ll make it a _thing_ ," Roger made a face. "And it’s not up to you to decide if I should feel angry on _my own_ behalf."

 

"Just admit that you’re hurt," Freddie said, sounding weary, but his voice had that infuriating tenderness in it again that made Roger want to pluck his eyelashes out. "I know you are – how could you _not_ be?"

 

"There’s nothing to be hurt about," Roger said, aware of how desperately defensive he sounded. "It’s all good." He pointedly didn’t look at Freddie.

 

"Please," Freddie snorted. "I’ve known you since you had fucking terrible hair back in the sixties," he continued, waving a hand. "It’s almost as if you’re – _oh_." At the sudden change of tone, Roger looked up.

 

Freddie was studying as if he’d never seen him before, sporting an expression of horrified wonder.

 

"What?" Roger grunted, startling Freddie out of his trance.

 

"You’re – hm." Freddie paused again, something complicated crossing over his face. He seemed to struggle with himself for something to say, mouth opening and closing again in rapid succession, before the corner of his lips turned upwards for a fraction of a second. "I see."

 

"Are you going to be like this all night?" Roger asked. "Either spit it out or shut the fuck up, and watch the fucking film," he groused. "It’s like I’m fucking married to you, all you do is nag, nag, nag, without even the fucking benefits."

 

The expected comeback never came.

 

Instead, Freddie kept looking at him, mesmerized, as if he was a newly discovered species of insect.

 

Roger ignored the swooping feeling in his stomach, rising until dread clogged his lungs, taking his breath away.

 

"Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking," he said, doing an admirable job of sounding lighthearted, despite feeling anything but. Freddie seemed lost in thought. "Fred?"

 

"Mh? Oh, sorry – as you said, all’s good."

 

Roger pretended to believe him.

 

He didn’t know why he felt like he was laid bare for Freddie to see.

 

Did he?

 

.

 

Roger was almost an hour early, startling the secretary from her coffee-induced coma when he sauntered past her on sometime just after 7AM. On a fucking Friday.

 

He’d barely slept, having spent Thursday a nervous wreck, leaving him buzzing with tiredness, yet unable to sleep.

 

Roger told himself it was because of today’s meeting, and not because of anyone – anything else. After spending endless hours turning in bed, barely managing an hour of sleep in total, he counted his losses, and decided to just fucking leave his house and get it over with.

 

Of course, he had forgotten the fucking meeting was at 8:30AM, which meant he was going to be on his own for at least another fifty minutes, before Miami would show up. At least he had been provided with a frankly ginormous paper cup of coffee, provided by the secretary out front, who’d had handed it to him without being prompted, a sly smile playing on her lips.

 

In another time, he’d might’ve hit on her, either to simply pass some time until someone else arrived, or to see if she’d be interested to be taken home. (They usually were.)

 

However, he’d spent the past three weeks in limbo, as if everything was holding its breath, and today felt like the earth would start to spin again.

 

The only problem was, Roger didn’t know what the fuck to say to John and Brian, let alone what he _wanted_ from – all of that. He felt like he was threading a narrow path, on one side an endless fall to a dark abyss, on the other –

 

Roger rubbed over his face tiredly, the coffee slowly beginning to work its magic.

 

Somewhere, he had an inkling – a hope, rather – of what was on the other side, but the cost of it was not something Roger was ready to pay. He had kept shoving it back down whenever it had wanted to claw its way up, leaving heavy tears in its path, but it became harder each time.

 

Roger was teetering at the edge, at the verge of something. Something _big_.

 

It scared him shitless, and he’d have rather liked it if it went away.

 

Jesus, if that was what he was like when Brian and John where thousands of Miles away, he dreaded to find out what would happen to him when he saw them again, in – oh, about forty minutes.

 

So lost in thought, leg jiggling uncontrollably, he didn’t hear the door open and he almost jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder. He was half out of his seat, eyes wide as he turned around with some trepidation.

 

It was only Miami.

 

"Sorry about that, Roger," Miami said kindly, raising an eyebrow at his jumpiness. "You okay?"

 

"Wh– yeah," he mumbled, sitting back down, slumping in his seat. "Tired, too much coffee."

 

"I see," Miami said, moving to a free seat a few chairs down from where Roger sat, beginning to pull out various files, arranging them neatly. "Have you heard anything from Brian and John, yet?"

 

Roger’s breath hitched at the mention of the two, but he managed to reply. "I – no, I think they were supposed to arrive very late in the night, they probably went straight to bed. But, Freddie called them, kept them updated."

 

"Did he?" Miami mused, shuffling a stack of files, studying Roger. "Usually, Freddie avoids being in charge of anything like the plague," he laughed, and relieved to be free from more scrutiny, Roger laughed along. "Who knows, maybe he’ll even be on time."

 

Roger snorted. "Yeah, no," he grinned. "When hell freezes over, maybe."

 

They continued to talk for a few minutes, Roger ending up telling a watered down version of his stay at Freddie’s and Miami told him about his Christmas with his small family, until their fondly exasperated lawyer excused himself to get some coffee as well.

 

Alone again, Roger was twirling one of Miami’s pens absentmindedly, staring at the greying sky outside – in typical fashion, the world was dreary and cold, the early hour just accentuating this, causing Roger’s mood to immediately droop once more. Dimly, he heard the door open, and, not looking up, he raised his mostly empty cup.

 

"Bottoms’ up," he said, slurping at the last dredges of his coffee while still twirling the pen in his free hand.

 

"Uh – hi," someone said cautiously.

 

Roger choked, pen flying half across the room. He’d know that voice anywhere. He turned, already getting out of the chair. He felt numb, felt hot all over, even as his hands became clammy.

 

Brian stood in the doorway, hand halfway raised in an awkward wave. John stood next to him, wringing his hands.

 

Both seemed to drink Roger in, eyes roaming over his frame, clearly wanting to step closer, but holding themselves back. Roger set the cup down, glad the shake in his hands was barely visible. As they continued to stare, Roger took the liberty of looking back.

 

They had gotten a slight tan, which looked fetching on both of them. Brian’s hair looked still slightly windswept as if he’d just stepped off the beach (though that might just be Roger’s imagination). A fading hickey sat high on John’s neck, though he’d done his best to cover it up with a turtleneck sweater. While they looked _good_ , as much as they always did in Roger’s mind lately, they didn’t look like they’d been on a three-week holiday, the bags under their eyes weren’t just from jetlag, of that Roger was certain.

 

Belatedly, he realized no one had said anything in a good minute. "Hey," he decided, and did a little dance inwardly to the fact he’d managed that simple word without stuttering, or sounding choked, or any other possible way he could’ve sounded _not okay_. Pathetic, really. "How’s things?"

 

"Good," John said, still looking at him with a haunted look, finally taking a few steps, before hesitating again.

 

Roger really hated this.

 

"So, erm –" Brian began. "You look good – that is, you always do, of course, I mean, not that I’m trying –"

 

"He means you look healthy," John interrupted Brian’s rambling before it could escalate. "Which is good – if you are?"

 

Roger was going to kill Freddie. This was the most painfully awkward situation he’d ever been in, and he had sat with their pastor and his family for dinner back home, when he was still a teenager, having been caught in bed with said pastor’s son – by the pastor himself, just minutes earlier. Roger still wasn’t sure how he’d survived that dinner, to this day. Needless to say, Roger hadn’t been welcome anymore after that. Anyway, that this situation, with his friends of over ten years, was somehow _worse_ spoke for how messed up it was.

 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Look, I know Freddie called you two, and whatever he said to you, it was greatly exaggerated and out of context."

 

The words had an effect, just not the desired one. John and Brian shared a loaded look, clearly communicating something, before they turned back to him, completely in sync.

 

"About that," Brian said, voice incredibly careful as he stepped closer. "I’m – _we’re_ glad he did. We needed the kick in the rear," Brian grimaced, eyes finding Roger’s briefly, before flitting away. "And, we should’ve known –"

 

"You didn’t do anything wrong," Roger interrupted. He felt his stomach churn; he didn’t want to hear this – didn’t want to _do_ this.

 

"We did," John said quietly, coming to stand next to Brian, looking utterly miserable. "I’ve – of course we did," he sighed, shaking his head. "Roger –"

 

"No," Roger snapped. "Shut up." John’s mouth opened, as if to retort. Then, for the first time he’d known him, John closed his mouth, backing down, nodding.

 

Giving in to Roger.

 

"What the fuck?" Roger said, clenching his fists. "What, one call from Freddie and you just – roll over?" He stepped closer, eyes flashing. John frowned, but instead of glaring back, of a rebuttal, of _anything_ , he looked down.

 

"We didn’t – didn’t listen before," Brian said quietly. "So, if you want us to – to shut up, we –"

 

"And if I tell you to destroy your glorified fireplace, will you do that too?" Roger snarled at him. Brian’s eyes widened, but to Roger’s horrified astonishment, he just bit his lip. "Oh, fucking hell," he growled, throwing his hands up. "How about you two just fuck off, and stop being so bloody difficult."

 

"We’re not trying to be –" John huffed, visibly fighting down his own annoyance. "Roger, we are trying to apologize–"

 

" _Shut up_ ," Roger hissed, beginning to feel hysterical. "I don’t wanna talk about it – there’s nothing _to_ talk about."

 

"But – we _hurt_ you –" Brian tried, looking like someone had killed off the entire badger population of Great Britain.

 

Jesus, did they not understand he didn’t want to talk about it? Were they being fucking obtuse on purpose?

 

"Rog –" John said, prodding softly, and.

 

Roger had had enough.

 

"I’m _fine_ ," he hissed through clenched teeth, hauling John close by the lapel of his jacket. John blinked at him, looking at the hand fisted in his jacket warily.

 

"No," John replied, looking at him, unbearingly soft. "How could you, after – after all of it?"

 

Damn him – damn _them_.

 

"I thought I told you to shut up," he grunted, tugging John even closer, their noses brushing. John’s eyes went almost comically wide at the unexpected action. He swallowed, and Roger tracked the movement almost deliberately. He heard Brian take a sharp intake of breath.

 

John, apparently not to be deterred, opened his mouth again, no doubt eager to continue arguing.

 

Roger leant over and kissed him.

 

He felt John’s breath stutter, and his hands came up, hovering in the air for a moment, before John sighed, right into Roger’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands fell around Roger’s waist, tugging him close. Tension he hadn’t realized he’d had flowed out of Roger, causing him to sag into John.

 

What was he doing?

 

John caught him easily, tilting his head slightly, and Roger felt his toes curl at the slide of John’s tongue against his own, a hazy, warm feeling taking over his entire body. He tried to deepen the kiss, but John just hummed, gentling the insistent press of Roger’s tongue at every turn, preventing it from getting too heated.

 

A choked sound next to them made John break the kiss, and Roger chased after his lips with closed eyes for a second, before he caught himself. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

 

Brian was staring at them with an awed look, a flush high on his cheeks, mouth slightly open.

 

And, that was just unfair of Roger, wasn’t it.

 

He reached out, tugging at Brian’s shirt. Brian went, as if in trance, eyes glued to him.

 

"You too," Roger mumbled against Brian’s lips. "Don’t wanna hear another damn word about it from you either."

 

He swallowed any rising protest by kissing him, their noses bumping together briefly, before Roger tugged at Brian’s curls, and finally, their mouths slotted together just this side of perfect.

 

Kissing was something Roger had always considered his favorite thing to do with someone, loved how it just added so much more depth to intimacy, even if he never saw that person again. Kissing Brian, and John was –

 

He sighed dreamily, Brian’s tongue curling around his. Somewhere, a voice was screaming at him, begging him to stop.

 

Roger happily ignored that tiny, far away voice, letting himself be swept away by the onslaught of sensation, humming contently when John nosed along his jawline, pressing a chaste kiss there.

 

Why in the world had he denied himself this?

 

It was –

 

"Ah. I’ll come back in a minute, yes?" Miami’s voice rang out, the door falling shut again, tearing Roger violently out of his hazy state, hastily stepping back.

 

What the fuck had he just done?

 

Both Brian and John were looking at him, but they didn’t seem to be put out. Brian still looked a bit disoriented, and despite the rising wave of panic, Roger couldn’t help but feel smug, especially at the sight of John’s swollen lips.

 

"I – I don’t know what that was, I’m sorry –"

 

"Don’t," John said, almost begged, voice hoarse. "Don’t apologize." He was looking torn, eyes roaming over Roger’s face searchingly.

 

"Okay," Roger conceded. "We – let’s forget about before," Roger said breathlessly. "Let’s – let’s move on." _Please_ , he didn’t say.

 

Again, John and Brian exchanged a long look, before Brian turned to him.

 

"I – we want to talk to you."

 

.

 

 _Talk_.

 

The exec was talking, had been droning on about some legal bullshit for a good long while, but all Roger could focus on was that word.

 

They wanted to _talk_.

 

And, fuck, they probably wanted to end things, had for a while, likely, and Roger, like the utter berk he was, just went and kissed them. Something he had refused to do before, and now there was another line he’d crossed, adding fuel to this thing.

 

Oh, he had just fucked himself over royally, hadn’t he?

 

And besides, hadn’t he himself tried to convince himself that it would be for the best to let this fucking thing die? What on earth had possessed him?

 

"Why the fuck do you all look so guilty," Freddie whispered, leaning over while pointedly ignoring the dirty look one of the lawyers from their soon-to-be ex-management shot him.

 

"Nothing’s happened – I don’t know. I don’t look guilty – I mean, I’m not feeling guilty," Roger mumbled back, stumbling over his words, taking turns at staring at John and Brian, and then avoiding their eyes.

 

"What in the fresh hell did they do now? They haven’t been back a full day!" Freddie whispered back furiously, already cracking his knuckles.

 

"Stop that – fucking hell, it’s not _them_ that did something, apart from not shutting up, before –" he trailed off, looking away.

 

Freddie remained quiet for a moment, before a weary sort of understanding crossed his face. "And did you _make_ them shut up–?"

 

"Gentlemen," the nasal voice of one of the lawyers interrupted. "If you’d be so kind as rejoin the conversation; we are discussing your unlawful conduct concerning the Christmas special –"

 

"Which wasn’t correctly communicated," Miami cut in smoothly, shooting them a begging look.

 

"Later," Freddie mouthed.

 

"No thanks," Roger told him.

 

If only he could crawl under a blanket and forget he existed, for a little while.

 

.

 

The meeting dragged on for well over three hours. Roger had never seen supposedly professional lawyers shout and curse this much, not to mention the faces of the execs that became redder by the minute, with every other legal stone Miami calmly laid in their path.

 

Roger was _immensely_ cheered up, even as the time passed so slowly it felt like moving through a bog.

 

By the time hour number four rolled around, Miami had actually managed to pull it off; they were free from their management.

 

As each lawyer walked out with their tail between their legs, followed by the execs who looked more close to purple now, Roger felt his grin stretch wider and wider, and Freddie next to him didn’t even bother to hide his amusement, letting out a truly heinous-sounding cackle. Next to Freddie, John looked relieved, a slow smile spreading, revealing his charming tooth gap. Brian, sat next to John, was at least polite enough to hide his own smile behind long, elegant fingers.

 

Then, the last exec turned the corner, and Freddie wasted no time flinging himself at an exhausting looking Miami.

 

"Oh, that was absolutely marvelous, darling," he exclaimed, pulling the poor man closer. "Loved how you gave them such a thorough buggering, really, I could kiss you."

 

"Sure you’re not mistaking this Jim for _your_ Jim?" John asked from the side. Miami snorted, entangling himself from Freddie.

 

"John," Freddie said archly. "I don’t think you’ve won back your sass benefits just yet, young man," he quipped, eyes dark and serious. Roger groaned in exasperation, flicking the back of Freddie’s head.

 

"I do love you, but stop, for fuck’s sake," he told him, before turning to the other two watching. "Don’t mind him. How about you two buy us lunch, like, really expensive lunch –"

 

"Sushi," Freddie prompted, eyes on Brian, who hated sushi, even before he had become a vegetarian. However, he didn’t protest, just wincing, before nodding. Unbelievable.

 

"– Fine, sushi," Roger sighed.

 

"And you’ll tell us how undeserving you two are of your _absolutely_ _fabulous_ band-mates, holding down the fort while everything was on fire, while you two fucked off to bumfuck nowhere," Freddie said. "And we’ll repeat that until I deem you worthy again."

 

"Yes, Your Highness," Brian said, but he sounded forced instead of teasing, more as if he was actually taking this seriously.

 

"That’s _Your Majesty_ to you, you filthy peasant," Freddie said. "Now, Roger dear –"

 

"– No," Roger said just to be contrite.

 

"– I need to powder my nose. Come along."

 

"I’m not holding your dick while you piss, Freddie," Roger said, but accepted his fate, following him out.

 

"As if you’d ever get so lucky," Freddie sniffed. "Gents, stay right where you are, no running off to Thailand or wherever."

 

.

 

"So, what the fuck happened in the less than twenty-four hours they’ve been back?" Freddie asked, washing his hands. "Because I’m down with cutting their cocks off if they did something."

 

"Freddie," Roger groaned. "Please –"

 

Freddie, clearly interpreting his baffled look, snorted. "Darling, I know how you look when someone just rocked your world – unfortunately," he added in a mutter. "So, did they cock it up by being right tits? I can ask Jim to bring his gardening shears –"

 

"I kissed them," Roger blurted out.

 

Freddie froze, blinking at him.

 

"How in the _world_ was that a good idea?" He exclaimed, sounding more upset than Roger felt.

 

"I know –" Roger began, shoulders slumping.

 

"I mean, you should let them grovel, let them buy you pretty gifts – the coat was a good start. Make them work for it. They need to earn your –"

 

"Freddie, I’m not in a relationship with either of them," Roger said slowly. "And – I don’t – I’m not trying to be," the words tasted bitter on his tongue. "They don’t _need_ to _do_ anything, but to let things go back to how they were before."

 

"And kissing them right after they get back is supposed to achieve that?" Freddie asked dubiously, arching an eyebrow.

 

"Fuck, you think I don’t know I fucked it up – again?" Roger whined, tugging at his hair.

 

Freddie hummed thoughtfully. "Well, _they_ didn’t seem terribly upset," he observed, shrugging when Roger shot him an incredulous look. "In fact, Deaky looked particularly flushed, even pleased, and Brian kept adjusting himself while mooning at you."

 

"Fuck you," Roger said with feeling, throwing his hands up, storming out the bathroom, pretending he wasn’t getting flustered by Freddie’s words.

 

.

 

Miami had already left when Roger got back from a smoke, having been in desperate need of one. Freddie was also smoking when Roger stumbled across the other three, looking unbothered. Brian however, kept looking warily at Freddie while fussing with his hair, grimacing, while John kept rubbing his ear, looking contrite for some reason.

 

"Fuck, let’s get out of this ugly building," John mumbled when he spotted Roger, his gaze heavy on Roger, making his skin prickle.

 

"Let’s," Brian agreed, equally unable to look away from Roger for long.

 

They’d found their way to Roger’s favorite sushi restaurant on this side of the city sometime after noon, and the place was packed; it did pay to be a world-famous rock star, as they’d gotten a cleared section almost immediately.

 

Somehow, Roger had ended with the entire half of the table by himself, while Freddie had squished himself between John and Brian across. Roger thought Freddie had been uncertain if he wanted to meddle, and stick Roger between the other two, or keeping them away from him, and thus had ended up where he was. Brian and John looked vaguely uncomfortable, while Freddie looked nonplussed.

 

It was hilarious, and yet it did nothing to diffuse the weird tension lingering between him and Brian-and-John.

 

"So," Roger tried. "Come here often?" He even went so far as to bat his eyes, desperate to diffuse the strange, choking tension.

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Then John snorted, which was unfortunate for him, because he’d been drinking from his coke-bottle, snorting frizzy liquid over the table, over himself, and over Roger. Freddie shrieked, both in protest and gleeful delight, while Brian chortled, handing Roger a napkin with a smile.

 

"You terrible tart, you," Freddie told him, after they’d all calmed down. "Now – John, darling stop pulling that face, it’ll wash out – does this place has anything else _but_ raw fish?"

 

"It’s sticky," John complained under his breath, but he didn’t sound too put out.

 

"Fred, it was _your_ idea, coming here," Brian pointed out.

 

"Well, I’m sure they’ll have _something_."

 

.

 

It turned out, the only thing without raw sea food was some weird-looking algae salad, which looked as if it would walk off Freddie’s plate any second.

 

Freddie didn’t shut up about it for the almost four hours they spent there.

 

(It turned out that despite everything, they fell back to familiar patterns easy enough. Some topics were a bit of a sore spot, like Bali, or, you know. Roger kissing John and Brian, probably right before they wanted to end things.)

 

(Roger spent those four hours convincing himself that this was also what he wanted, as well.)

 

.

 

"You two fucks owe me a Christmas _and_ a New Year’s toast. You’re coming over – if you’re tired from the flight, that’s not my problem."

 

And so, Freddie had decided to prolong Roger’s inner turmoil.

 

.

 

Surprisingly, they ended up barely drinking, instead playing a round of Scrabble, at Brian’s insistence – Roger heard him muttering something about letting Freddie win last time for _‘some goddamn peace and quiet’_.

 

It went on for quite a while, and it was only when the sky had been dark for hours, when John kept nodding off next to Brian, that they unanimously decided to leave it off for another day.

 

"’need to discuss some legal stuff – finances –" John said around a yawn, stretching. He looked grumpy at the prospect of having to get up. No, Roger did not find it adorable.

 

"Next week, Deaky," Freddie decided.

 

"Rog," Jim called, peeking his head in. "I’ve got something for Ziggy, would you mind taking a look?"

 

"Sure," Roger said, following him out the living room.

 

When he got back, arms loaded with some truly wild array of exotic cat food, there was a renewed tension in the air.

 

"Let me," Brian said, plucking over half of the various bags and cartons out of his arms. Roger shot him a thankful smile.

 

"Yeah, thanks. Jesus, Freddie, no wonder your cats aren’t eating any of this stuff." He nodded at one of the baggies. " _Fauna_? And why is "real" chicken in fucking quotation marks?" Freddie just grunted, waving his hand dismissively.

 

"Rog," John spoke up. "How are you getting home?" He asked, shifting from one foot to another.

 

"Uh, dunno," he shrugged. "Well, walking seems kind of a drag with all of these –" he joked.

 

 _"No!"_ Three voices protested loudly. Roger blinked, before his brain caught up with what he’d just said. He smiled sheepishly.

 

"Darling you can always stay –"

 

"We’ll give you a lift," John cut in, looking tense, arms tucked close to his side. "If – if that’s okay."

 

"We didn’t drink much, so we won’t –" Brian paused, wringing with himself.

 

"So you won’t crash the car," Freddie sighed, sounding tired, shooting the other two a dirty look.

 

"Yeah. That," John nodded, looking grateful. "But only if you want." He seemed to vibrate, as if desperately eager, but forcing himself to appear – not-manic.

 

"Uh, sure," Roger said slowly. "Thanks."

 

"I’ll get the car started," Brian said immediately, all but sprinting out of the room. Roger watched him go, befuddled.

 

"Yeah, I’ll pack these up," John said, relieving Roger from the remaining assortments of cat food, following Brian out the door.

 

"What the fuck?" Roger said quietly.

 

"Well," Freddie said. "They’re putting in an effort, at least."

 

"This isn’t what I wanted," Roger scowled. "This is a huge fucking mess, and it could’ve all gone back to normal, and now fucking look what you –"

 

"It’s not as if it was me who kissed them for you," Freddie observed mildly, effectively shutting Roger up. "How about you hear them out first, before throwing a fit?"

 

"What – they’ll drive me home, the drive isn’t long enough for –"

 

"Sweet, naïve Roger," Freddie said, shooting him a pitying look. "They said they’d give you a lift. They didn’t say _where_." Roger’s eyes widened.

 

"Oh, _hell_."

 

"Mhm. You should’ve slept over, dear."

 

.

 

The drive was relatively short, yet it felt like an eternity to Roger. He kept squirming in the backseat, valiantly meeting John’s unreadable gaze in the rearview mirror, as well as Brian’s side glances.

 

"Rog?" Brian asked quietly into the painful silence.

 

"Yeah?"

 

Brian glanced over to John, who was looking straight ahead, a bit too intense for the almost empty streets. "What – well, did you get our package?" He asked, glancing back at Roger, eyes flitting over his plain black coat, before coming up to peer at his face, look pinched.

 

Roger felt his mind go blank, panicking.

 

 _Play dumb_ , Roger thought to himself. "What package?" He asked, tone forcefully light. Brian shared a look with John, whose eyes were tight.

 

"Are you sure you didn’t get anything? It was kind of small?" Brian pressed, looking a bit on the desperate side.

 

"I –" Roger said, biting his lip. Now he felt kind of guilty. "Well, I’ve gotten a few things from – uh, my mum, and I haven’t opened everything, maybe – maybe it’s in the pile. Sorry."

 

"Okay," Brian mumbled, looking oddly defeated. Something squeezed in Roger’s chest painfully at the sight.

 

"We’re here," John spoke up, voice flat. Roger looked up, and indeed, they had arrived at Roger’s house.

 

"Oh, thanks," Roger said, but something in him hesitated, stopping him from opening the door.

 

"Roger," John said, turning around to face him, his face unreadable. "We – I know we shouldn’t really ask but – come home with us. Please," he asked, voice barely a whisper on the last word.

 

The request was simple. Roger could say no, he knew that. In fact, he probably should.

 

"To talk?" He asked, unable to stop a hint of bitterness to seep into his tone.

 

"Well –" John frowned, but Brian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, before turning to face Roger as well.

 

"We want – we’d like to make up for our behavior," he said, choosing his words carefully, holding up a hand when Roger went to protest, already rolling his eyes. "If not for anything else, for our – erm, disappearance to Bali," he added delicately, making Roger snort. "And, well, yes, we’d like to talk, eventually, but it doesn’t have to be tonight."

 

And, damn, but Roger was already sitting up a bit straighter, leaning forward, as if he was a sunflower and Brian’s words some long gone sunshine, only now returning. He felt pathetic, praying that they didn’t hear his heart beating.

 

"I –" he said, throat dry. He wanted to say no, to spare himself from whatever they were going to say to him, could barely bear their kindness they’d likely show when they would inevitably end things. He wanted to say yes, wanted to steal some last dredges of their warmth he’d already stolen so much from.

 

"Please," John asked again, and now his eyes were boring into his own, imploringly, a faint tremble noticeable on his bottom lip.

 

Freddie had been right; he’d always had trouble denying them.

 

"Yeah, okay," Roger said eventually, and the pit in his stomach lightened at their blinding twin smiles.

 

.

 

Roger wondered how John had even managed to drive; as soon as they’d arrived to John’s and Brian’s home, John had stumbled out of the car, clearly beyond exhausted. Roger, who’d gotten out on his side of the car, reached out to grab him under his arm by sheer reflex. John shot him a tired, but very grateful smile and Roger felt himself flush just a little, glad the relative darkness of Brian and John’s driveway hid his face enough for no one to notice.

 

"Anyone up for tea?" Brian asked after they had found their way into the kitchen. John, who was already sitting, nodded, collapsing his head on his crossed arms, turning his head so he could watch both Brian and Roger through hooded eyes. "Rog?"

 

"Err – please," he answered, sitting down next to John.

 

No one said anything while Brian prepared three cups of tea, the silence actually rather comfortable, but Roger felt exposed, trying, and failing to keep his leg from jiggling.

 

"You’re all – jiggly," John mumbled into the crook of his arms. "Why?"

 

"I –" Roger faltered, glad for the small distraction of Brian setting their mugs of tea down, taking a seat next to Roger, across from John.

 

"Can I ask you something?" Brian asked, voice soft and gentle.

 

Roger closed his eyes briefly. "I know what you want to ask me," he sighed, looking down at his tea.

 

"Do you?" Brian wondered, but his voice was fond, almost teasing.

 

"Well, why did you?" John spoke up, lifting his head. His gaze was boring into Roger’s very soul, and Roger had to look away.

 

"Look, I’m sorry, I know –"

 

"No," John shook his head, mouth turned downwards. "Please don’t apologize for that. I – we didn’t _mind_." And Roger almost did a double-take; John was blushing, the color fetching, almost pretty on his face. "Just, why did you? I thought you didn’t –" he stopped, searching for words.

 

"I don’t know – no, I really don’t," he added when Brian frowned. "But, it’s just, I hadn’t seen you in so long, and you wouldn’t shut up and I – short-circuited."

 

Again, they shared a quick look, but then John smirked. "So, you’re saying you missed us?"

 

"No," Roger replied instantly, voice petulant as he hid his face with a sip of tea.

 

"No, need to be ashamed of admitting it," John teased, but then his face grew more somber. "We missed you too," he said, voice soft, hand curling around Roger’s arm, squeezing. "Especially after what we did –"

 

"Stop," Roger said, ignoring how the warmth of John’s hand made his entire arm tingle. "You said – not tonight." John’s mouth pinched again, but he nodded, even if a bit reluctantly.

 

"That’s all well and good," Brian said. "But that’s not actually what I wanted to ask."

 

"It wasn’t?" Both John and Roger spoke up at the same time, and Brian hummed, a toothy smile appearing.

 

"No," he confirmed, before turning to Roger. "I wanted to ask you if we could do it again?"

 

"What?" Roger asked, completely dumbfounded, while John hissed Brian’s name in warning. Brian just waved him off. "Why?" He asked, mind blank. "Why does it even matter?" It wasn’t as if they wanted it, wanted him to stick around like he had been; he _understood_ , had gotten the damn message. So why –

 

"Because," Brian said, leaning over, cupping his cheek. "Because it was lovely – unexpected, but lovely," he smiled, eyes incredibly soft. " _You’re_ lovely."

 

"Oh," Roger breathed out, voice embarrassingly high, closer to a whistle.

 

"Can I – can I kiss you, Rog?" Brian asked, hesitatingly. Roger’s heart skipped several beats, rendering him unable to form any words. Brian seemed to read it wrong, though, starting to remove his hand from his cheek. Unthinkingly, Roger snatched his hand, putting it back onto his cheek, before he realized what he’d done, looking down, afraid to look at Brian, and what he might find. His hand remained, cradling Brian’s to his cheek.

 

"Rog," John spoke up, voice just as soft as Brian’s. Roger’s eyes flitted quickly to John’s face, before looking down again. Then, another hand came up to cradle his other cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone tenderly, enough so to want to make Roger cry.

 

"Why?" He asked again, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Why would you want – shouldn’t you –"

 

"Do you want to kiss us?" John asked him then, to the point as always.

 

And wasn’t that the crux of the matter; he _did_ want to. He shivered just at the memory of this morning, of Brian’s slight stubble catching at his skin, John’s taste, the way his hands had felt around his waist, Brian’s soft lips, slightly chapped, against his own.

 

He wanted to, but he shouldn’t. Roger wasn’t sure why they were doing this, now, when they would rather end things with him. He shouldn’t prolong this, selfishly asking for even more.

 

But he wanted to be selfish one more time.

 

"Yes," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Brian moved his hand slightly, cupping his chin and turning his face to him, and Roger almost forgot how to breathe at the sight of the warm, almost elated smile on his face. "Then that’s the least we can do," he told him, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip.

 

Roger closed his eyes, breath hitching wetly at the words. He knew they were indulging him, but to hear it was devastating.

 

Then warm, dry lips brushed against his, and Roger shuddered out a breath, train of thought fading away by the feel of Brian’s lips, his tongue skillfully delving into his mouth.

 

The kiss wasn’t hurried; Brian was taking his time, as if memorizing everything, but there was still heat cursing underneath it; Brian was kissing him as if he’d been starving for this, pulling Roger closer to him, tugging at his hair, making Roger moan weakly, the sound immediately being swallowed.

 

Dimly, he was aware of John’s hand on his thigh, but he didn’t remember when it had landed there. John seemed content to wait, and while the touch made Roger squirm, heat slowly beginning to pool low in his gut, even if John didn’t move it, just his thumb rubbing circles in an almost soothing manner into the meat of Roger’s thigh.

 

Roger whined, feeling just a touch dazed, when Brian broke their kiss, looking at him. Roger couldn’t even begin to form a thought, let alone a word, when John cradled his chin with his other hand leaning in to nose at his jaw, a content sigh escaping him and tickling Roger’s skin there.

 

"Okay?" John asked Roger, looking at him searchingly. Roger nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "Can I kiss you too?" Roger felt himself flush again at the sweet, careful way John was asking him, how both of them were treating him. Almost as if he was precious. Roger hated that he couldn’t have this for much longer, and so he nodded, eagerly, sighing when John cupped the back of his head tenderly, pulling him close, their lips finally, _finally_ meeting.

 

Kissing John was different than kissing Brian, and the stark contrast had Roger’s toes curling in pleasure. Brian was mindful, almost methodic, taking Roger apart by taking his time.

 

John was different; an undeniable hunger was there, and he was eagerly sucking at Roger’s tongue, as if he couldn’t get enough of it, both hands, one on his thigh, one holding him steady at the back of his head, twitching against his skull and thigh, as if he couldn’t quite control himself, making Roger’s head spin in the process.

 

Brian wasn’t just sitting idly and watching (though Roger knew he’d like that, too); he was kissing down Roger’s throat, small little kisses, almost innocent in their nature, while John kept kneading his thigh. Infuriatingly, neither of them seemed willing to take things further, John’s hand not moving an inch, Brian not even sucking a hickey or two into his skin, as if he was afraid to do so.

 

He felt like he was boiling, and yet it wasn’t _enough_.

 

Roger whined, beyond frustrated, his body aching to be touched. John immediately broke the kiss, looking at him with open concern, cradling his face.

 

"Rog? What’s wrong?" He asked, Brian stopping to look at him as well.

 

"It’s – I –" he ground out. "Can you – can you touch me?" There was a stretch of silence, then both looked down at his crotch in unison.

 

"Ah, well –" Brian seemed unsure, looking at John. John himself seemed to be hesitating too, but he seemed eager as well.

 

"Well, maybe we can –" he sighed, reluctantly disentangling himself from Roger. "Let’s go upstairs, yeah?"

 

Numbly, Roger nodded, wanting to kick himself. He’d been greedy again.

 

"Come on," Brian said, smiling slightly, guiding Roger upstairs with a hand on his lower back. "You look as tired as I feel," he joked. Roger just hummed, hoping his misery wasn’t showing on his face too obviously. Upstairs, Roger suddenly felt his gut churning when they reached the bedroom, stopping in the doorway.

 

Both John and Brian turned around to him when he didn’t follow. Both frowned when they looked at him; John looked almost desolate, but Brian wasn’t far behind.

 

"You don’t have to – there’s – we have a guestroom," John said, haltingly, looking at him imploringly. "Anything you want."

 

Roger felt his heart plummet, but he nodded despite himself. "Yeah, I mean, I understand. I can –"

 

"Only if you want to," Brian said. "We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable."

 

"I – don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable either," Roger replied, the words like ash in his mouth.

 

"No. I mean. Do you want to stay?" John asked, a touch of desperation in his voice. "We don’t mind –" he huffed, clearly frustrated. "Stay. I – we want – we’d like you to," he said, glancing at Brian, who nodded quickly.

 

"I – only if you’re sure –"

 

"Yes," Brian said immediately.

 

"Okay," Roger nodded slowly, unclenching his fists slowly (when had he even clenched them?) and hesitatingly moved closer.

 

"You can have a shirt of mine," John said immediately, handing him an old, faded grey one as if he’d been waiting to do so. Roger vaguely recognized it from when they’d all been living together. He thought it might’ve been Freddie’s, originally.

 

"Thanks," he said, shrugging off his blazer and shirt, shivering slightly at the air hitting his exposed skin. He grabbed the offered shirt, only to pause. John was staring, a bit too intently at him, or rather, his body, eyes roaming almost frantically over his skin, as if looking for something. Brian was doing the same from where he was peeling back the cover, but at least he did it subtly. Feeling almost shy at the scrutiny, he quickly moved to pull the soft shirt over his head, feeling relieved. He kicked off his trousers, rubbing his legs together.

 

"Alright," John said, turning away quickly, moving to crawl under the covers. Roger shuffled to Brian’s side, where he usually had slept. He had a knee on the mattress, when Brian surged up, startling both him and John.

 

"Sorry, need a glass of water," Brian said apologetically. "Go on, I’ll be right back," he told Roger, quickly making his way out of the bedroom. Roger hesitated for a moment, before he decided he was cold, and Brian could just crawl over him when he got back. He laid down, leaving enough distance between him and John for Brian’s unnatural long legs, the duvet peeled back.

 

Brian came back a minute or so later, crawling into bed. However, instead of crawling over Roger, he pressed close to Roger’s side, giving him a slight push.

 

"Move over," he told Roger, who frowned.

 

"But –" he protested feebly, even as Brian pushed a bit harder, inevitably moving him closer to John.

 

"Brian’s a hugger and I’m not feeling it," John said, eyes closed. That, Roger knew, was a filthy lie, because even as he said it, John pulled Roger close to him arms loosely around him as he spooned his side, Brian quickly following from the other side, effectively sandwiching him between him and John.

 

Roger looked cautiously from John to Brian, who chuckled, hand trailing up from his chest to his face, fingers mapping out his skin. "Besides," Brian said, grinning. "It’s easier for us both to kiss you like this." Roger’s eyes went wide, and Brian was hasty to add. "Only if you want to – we can just go to sleep."

 

"’s up to you," John mumbled, eyes now open, staring at Roger with something Roger knew was _want_.

 

 _Last time being selfish_ , he reminded himself, and nodded.

 

No sooner had he said it that John had moved, sliding his lips against Roger’s, stealing his breath, making Roger arch into the kiss, wasting no time in licking into his mouth. Both of them were sliding their hands up and down his body, hands wandering but not hurried, simply seeming to revel in touching Roger’s skin.

 

Then Brian nudged John away from Roger’s lips just enough to be able to kiss him himself, tongue chasing John’s lingering taste in his mouth.

 

Roger felt like he was slowly being ignited, with each touch, each twist of tongue, and Brian and John traded between them, until Roger couldn’t tell anymore who was kissing him, a haze of pleasure fogging up most of his thinking capabilities, rendering him to their mercy.

 

He almost frizzed out when a hand – a broad one, John’s – just barely ghosted over his cock, causing him to buck up, gasping into whoever’s mouth was currently kissing him.

 

"Rog," Brian asked, breaking the kiss, leaving Roger’s lips buzzing. He whined, trying to chase Brian’s mouth. "Wait," Brian said, brushing hair out of his face, the hands on his body stopping as well. "Can you look at me please?" Roger frowned, but pried his eyes open just enough to be able to squint at him in clear displeasure. "Do you want this? We can stop."

 

"Whu –" he managed to garble out. "No, please," he asked. He needed this, just this one last time, couldn’t they see that?

 

"No, you don’t want this, or please, don’t stop?" John asked, and Roger turned to look at him, expecting to be met with a teasing expression.

 

John looked dead serious.

 

Roger blinked at the somberness, before shuddering. "Please," he said softly. "Don’t stop." John kept gazing at him for a moment longer, searching, before he gave him a small smile, one that made Roger’s heart beat painfully against his ribcage.

 

Then, long fingers teased past the waistband of his underwear, wrapping around his cock. Roger was already so on edge that he sobbed, desperately arching into the touch.

 

"It’s alright," John whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We’re here, we got you," he promised, trailing kisses from his cheek down do his neck, fleeting things that left him wanting for more, even as he choked down another sob, desperately wanting to ask for how long they would, if they still would after tomorrow.

 

"Beautiful," Brian said, stroking his cock a bit faster. "You’re so lovely, Rog, doing so good," he continued, and Roger had to squeeze his eyes shut, felt horribly exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the hand down his pants. "There, you’re okay," Brian soothed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

No, Roger really, really wasn’t. He was being torn apart on the inside, even as his pleasure kept building, whole body already taut, panting heavily between them.

 

Then, John bent down to suckle at one of his nipples; Brian chose the exact same moment to twist his wrist just so, thumbing at Roger’s slit, and Roger stuttered out a long whine, arching off the bed as he came, all over Brian’s hand and his own shirt, squeezing his eyes shut, mouth hanging open as the waves kept coming. Brian continued to jerk him off, milking his cock for all it was worth while John kissed him again, lazily licking into his mouth and suckling at his tongue, while teasingly flicking at his wet nipple.

 

Gradually, Roger came down from his high, curling up into Brian, still trying to catch his breath as he panted into Brian’s skin, trembling in their arms.

 

"Wonderful," John breathed, kissing the back of his neck. "Thank you, Roger," he said, nosing along the ridges of Roger’s spine, making Roger quiver. Then, Roger felt him get off the bed, and something like panic surged through him, looking up so fast there was an audible crack.

 

"Where –" he breathed out in a rush, and John frowned, confused at his reaction, before his eyes widened a fraction, expression turning pinched.

 

"Just gonna get a washcloth," John promised. "I’ll be right back." He briefly brushed his hand soothingly over Roger’s shoulder, before he quickly moved to the adjacent bathroom. Brian hummed soothingly, coaxing him to lay back down, tangling their legs.

 

"We’re not going to leave you," Brian said, sounding somewhat grieved as he looked at Roger. "Let us take care of you," he added, when John returned, turning Roger enough to clean him up, helping him out of the come-stained shirt, tossing it near the hamper.

 

"You already did," Roger croaked, feeling somewhat more aware, the lingering daze slowly dissipating. "Let me return the favor," he added, hand sliding down.

 

"No," Brian said immediately, almost stern, catching Roger’s wandering hand, tangling it with his own. Roger blinked at him, confused, hurt. Brian’s face softened, leaning down to kiss Roger’s palm as John slid into the bed, pulling up the covers snugly over them. "This isn’t about me – about us.

 

"It’s about you, right now," John added, burrowing his face into the back of Roger’s neck. "Wanted to make it up to you," he mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

 

Between them, being held like this, Roger grew drowsy very quickly, already feeling John’s breath even out against the back of his neck, and he snuggled deeper into their combined warmth, feeling incredibly warm, the feeling seeping through his skin right into his chest, settling there.

 

Sleepily, he wished he could remain just like this, that he could _have_ this, forever. He felt his heart beat, heard Brian’s from where he was pressed against his chest, felt John’s through his ribcage against his back. He let out a deep sigh, drowsily wishing they could love him, as he did.

 

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his thoughts, and then he froze.

 

Roger loved them.

 

Roger was _in love_ with them.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, no.

 

He wanted to desperately to put that cursed thought back from wherever it had come from, pretending it had never crossed his mind.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Roger felt tears well in his eyes, breathing out a shuddering sob.

 

He couldn’t be. It wasn’t _fair_.

 

Brian made an inquisitive noise against his hair, not quite awake, but not sleeping either. Roger squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to slow his breath. Brian simply held him tighter, John even making a noise in his sleep, shifting closer.

 

He couldn’t fall apart here. They would ask, insisting to talk to him, and he couldn’t do that to himself.

 

Then, another horrible thought struck him; all of this – them being tender, loving, was because they had wanted _to make it up to him_ , for after Ratty’s party. John had fucking said so.

 

And now, like the biggest idiot this side of the world, he’d gone and fucking realized his feelings. Right before they would fucking end things, this being nothing more than a pity fuck – no, not even that, they hadn’t even wanted him to touch either of them, just being too fucking _nice_ to turn him away.

 

Roger closed his eyes, but his thoughts kept tormenting him well into early morning, as he tried very hard not to fall apart in the arms of the two people he loved.

 

The two people he could never have.

 

Dawn couldn’t come soon enough.

 

Roger hoped dawn never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mic drop*

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will grow longer as the story progresses (I tried to stick to a under 2k chapters rule but the smut had other ideas whoops)
> 
> So far, ten chapters are already written - so you won't be left hanging ;). This work will post on Wednesdays weekly, until/if we catch up to the present, then posting schedule will be as I see fit. 
> 
> Leave Kudos and some feedback, I love talking to you guys!


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